The Trouble With Goobs
by Shadowmistress13
Summary: Mikey Yagoobian Jr., son of renowned baseball player of the World-Class Dinos, feels neglected. Maybe things would be better if his Dad lost that little league game. He starts plotting when he hears a certain agemate has a time machine. Sequel to Focus
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Meet the Robinsons

AN: Allo! I'm back already! I just keep having more ideas pop up for this fandom, so I'm frolicking with them. XD

Again Thank You to everyone who reviewed Focus during AND after the bandwagon fun! You're Awesome!

And another special shout out to MissingthePoint and Animefreak126 who've supported my MTR insanity! : D

**SPECIAL NOTE: **Alright, so to help with any confusion-this is the same universe as my other MTR fics-it's set IMMEDIATELY after "Focus" which you may or may not want to read before embarking on this one. *shrug* I'll leave that ball in your court.

So Part 2 of the Spectacle Series Begins! ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 1 Dastardliness…it Runs in the Family

* * *

The thunder rolled—lightning flashing through the windows of the _Playtime Planet_ Ice Cream Parlor.

Mikey Yagoobian Jr., son of the renowned baseball player of the same name, sat eating his banana split in contemplative silence.

His short legs swung back and forth anxiously on the plush booth seat.

He'd been waiting for this day, heck he'd had to sit through eight practices of Chargeball—faking that he enjoyed the sport for this chance.

Yes…He'd taken all the appropriate measures to meet the boy sitting across from him. And now his plan was coming together.

Wilbur A. Robinson glanced around mouth slackened; somewhere caught between morbid fascination and horror—Pink bombarding him from every angle.

Pegasus-es? Pegasi? He wondered blearily, all with fluffy wings and large eyes whose cuddly stares rattled the depths of his macho soul.

"It's…amazing…I can literally FEEL my manliness lowering every couple seconds…but the ice cream is fantastic…so its…almooooost worth it."

"It's one of my favorite spots, Dad worked for this company once way back when he was a teen. You know before the whole famous thing. That's how he knew it has the best ice cream."

"Mmmhmm" Wilbur answered distractedly, even his spoon was pink. And what wasn't pink was periwinkle Cinderella blue…he shuddered.

There was a rainbow arch over the door:

_Welcome Today! Hip Hip Hooray! Let's Get Together and Play Play Play!_

Wilbur's eye twitched.

The raven-haired teen tore his gaze away and focused on his window. Totally storming out there…just perfect…it'd probably short-circuit his equipment if he lugged it around out there…lame…

This Mikey kid was one strange cookie, as Wil's mom would say.

From the limited information Wilbur had gleaned from their conversation over the hour. Mikey's dad was some famous baseball player and he obviously expected Wilbur to know who.

Unfortunately, Wil didn't follow a lot of traditional sports preferring Chargeball and Hover-hockey (Whoa man! That was a brutal sport! As if it wasn't rough before; strapping hoverblades to their feet tripled accelerations and impacts).

He'd seen the kid around lately, watching their Chargeball practices. Wil heard through the grapevine that Mikey was hoping to join their team (much to their dismay).

Mikey would be dreadful. And that's the polite way to say it.

He was a pudgy, short boy who needed to use his inhaler after climbing to the top of even the mildest hills (like driveways).

Chargeball was for agile, coordinated bodies with quick-reflexes and long endurance.

He probably thought the sport looked cool—young athletes twisting, turning, sprinting, rolling, dodging, and blocking. Offensive and defensive maneuvers, volleying back and forth in furious flurries, of course they were impressive. They were ranked as a Silver Standard Junior League Chargeball Team. There were only two rankings higher in their division: Gold and Platinum.

And as things were going so far, they were totally gonna reach Gold this year—though if this kid's dad WAS as rich as he kept bragging, it was possible that he'd BUY his way into the team…and ruin their chances.

And that…was just sooo unfair. Every other kid had to try out for a spot. No exceptions. Why it was one of the few occasions where nobody accused Wilbur of using his Dad's fame to get in.

Only…it sounded like their coach KNEW Mikey's dad…he was really friendly with the boy, telling him to have his dad stop by sometime—show these youngsters a good ol' fashioned line drive.

Tch. Whatever that was…

With every minute that passed, Wilbur became more convinced that this was what the kid was after…A spoiled brat without appreciation for the hard work it took to execute stellar moves.

After practice today, the mousy-haired chubster swaggered towards him…or well…tried to—the end effect made him look more like a penguin than a wannabe aristocrat.

The boy gushed over his last bout, how super his last maneuver was:

Duh. He'd done a triple summersault into a side-wind, 180 block followed by a bull's eye strike for the final point.

Every kid and their grandma would be impressed by that. In fact, everyone burst into applause afterwards.

Even his teammate who'd been opposing him, had congratulated him, dubbing it "Epic Maneuver of the Day."

Oh yeah, he'd been totally on. Too bad that it wasn't an actual game but it was still pretty darn awesome, especially because he'd been feeling a little off today. Unusually tired and sluggish.

Probably because he stayed up last night playing videogames…again…summer vacation rocked!

Wilbur took another bite. Mmmmm…sprinkles.

It was hard to keep his concentration here. Between the disturbing décor and the delicious confection before him—he kept losing his reason for being here.

He'd decided to accept Mikey's invitation to ice cream (his treat). The kid blathered on about how he was looking forward to Chargeball. And that he hoped to learn some tips and tricks from a pro.

Now Wilbur always appreciated an ego boost, but he knew when he was being strung along.

No, he wouldn't be tricked. He would use the opportunity to carefully convince Mikey NOT to join up. For his own dignity if nothing else…or at least not until he had some real experience…cough…talent…cough…and could measure up.

Wilbur had called up his mom telling her about his change of plans. She'd seemed delighted that he was hanging out with a little friend. Just text her when he's ready to start walking home, so that she could know when to expect him.

Not five feet from the entrance of Playtime Planet, the beautiful blue-skied day abruptly darkened and absolute downpour began.

Maybe if Wil had been more into symbolism, he'd have taken that for the bad omen that it was.

* * *

Mikey watched the raven-haired boy for any signs of suspicion. Nothing. Good.

Now before he invested too much into this, he had to confirm a few more details.

"So you're really Dr. Robinson of Robinson Industries' son?" It was kind of hard to believe. They looked NOTHING alike, though Mikey reasoned, if the kid _**was**_ adopted that was hardly any of his business.

Wilbur adjusted his glasses, momentarily snapping out of his fog, "Yep that's my Dad."

"Must be pretty cool living with all the techno paraphernalia"

"Yeah, it's awesome" he admitted grinning as he thought of the travel tubes. Most malls and buildings had those, not homes. But the Robinson Mansion pretty much doubled as a testing facility. "How bout you?"

"We're rich too, if that's what you mean" Mikey shrugged, filling his spoon with strawberry sauce.

"Oh, uh um. I just…er…that's cool."

"So your parents are always busy then, hmm?"

"Um, I do…share them with the world, but they always try to make time for me"

"Oh they _**always**_ try" Mikey scoffed rather venomously.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the boy's chubby face menacingly.

Wilbur felt apprehension settle in his stomach and suddenly his Strawberry Choco Blast tasted sour.

"_**Your**_ parents are busy then?"

"Yeah, Mom's a CEO of Phototron—the company specializes in highline cameras and Dad's out with his baseball team all the time. So I understand what you go through."

"Uh?"

"I mean I see you're parents on televid all the time, so they must be away a lot too. See, we've got TONS in common" Mikey insisted. "All the other kids are jealous of us. All your parents' friends wonder when you're gonna finally do something amazing. And then there's just us, and what we CAN and CAN'T do. And _**that's**_ how it is."

Mikey stabbed his spoon into a scoop of pistachio.

"Weeeeeeelllll, thanks for the ice cream Mikey. But I gotta call my parents. You know the weather? I really shouldn't skateboard in this so-"

"I could call the chauffeur to pick us up."

"Nah dude, I'm fine"

Wilbur quickly excused himself to a quiet corner and pulled out his earpiece. Forget his plans for talking to the kid like a rationale human being—Wil's Creep-O Alarm was sounding. He needed to get the heck outta here!

Mikey crept closer.

Blast! His plans! Why wasn't Wilbur conforming to his schemes!

Mikey scowled as he eavesdropped on one side of the young Robinson's conversation.

"Hey Dad!"

"Yeah"

"Yeah, all done."

"I know there's a real downpour! It's like those murder mystery shows!"

He laughed.

"Uh-huh. Okay great!"

"Love you too, g'bye"

Mikey leapt back into the booth as Wilbur swaggered back and took a seat.

"My dad's on his way. Do you…" Darn his good upbringing "need a ride?"

"No. I'll just have Lucinda come and drive me home. Our maid. I could call Charles, but I wouldn't want our limo to get dirty in this nasty weather" he added a bit unnecessarily, as though that was sure to impress Wilbur.

"Uh…cool then."

* * *

Cornelius entered the ice cream parlor, shaking the rain from his umbrella.

He'd never been in this one before—opting for _Cherry on Top_—One of Franny's favorite stops from their courting days. She loved the desserts there, and he loved having her arm wrapped in his.

If he took particular satisfaction in strutting through there with her, it was because he'd been told repeatedly by the owner himself, that Franny was far out of his league and that he should be ready for a hard fall.

Oh yeah, look whose left hands have wedding bands…

The only thing he enjoyed better than having one arm around Franny's waist while he ordered a vanilla double scoop, was doing so…with his other arm draped over his son's shoulders.

Yes, he shamelessly paraded his son in there since Wil's toddler days, not that the kid was any wiser of it.

Father and Son LOVED ice cream, and Cornelius savored that extra hint of victory in each bite.

Playtime Planet…hmmm…His first observation of the place was that it was very…pink.

So much so that his eye twitched.

He always considered himself very secure in his masculinity and yet…this place…

Some piece of his teenage-self, that he was so sure he'd outgrown decades ago, winced '_my manliness_.'

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought.

Catching sight of his son's trademark cowlick, he walked over, "Hey there Kiddo."

"Dad!"

He smiled and offered Wil a rain poncho—didn't want the boy getting drenched in the span between the door and the hovercar.

"Have fun?"

"Eeeeyeah….I guess…Dad this is Mikey."

"Hello sir" the shorter, plumper boy greeted.

"Mikey, my Dad"

"Hello Mikey" Cornelius shook his hand; the child looked familiar somehow, but he couldn't quite place why.

* * *

Even after reassuring Dr. Robinson that he'd be just fine, that his ride was on its way, the man sat down with them on Wilbur's side.

Mikey tried to keep a pleasant expression…it was hard.

Dr. Cornelius L. Robinson…

World famous inventor…looked just like his picture in the magazines…apparently the whole nerdy scientist look wasn't a gimmick…no it was his usual fashion…eep.

The man was wearing a labcoat…here…odd…

He glanced back and forth between the supposed father-son duo.

No resemblance…yeah, the kid was definitely adopted…which would explain loads about him.

Every kid he'd talked to painted Wilbur as loud, obnoxious, athletic, and melodramatic.

Said description was followed by two main expressions: fondness or complete dislike.

Apparently, he was an academic flunky—spending his school hours reading comics, starting fights, and exploding stuff…some people muttered that he was a firefly in training.

In the sports realm he reigned supreme: karate, track and field, cross-country, chargeball, wrestling, and hurdles.

And Mikey, who had no inclination or impressive skill at any physical activities, felt a pang of envy.

He might be a junior state Chess Champion, but he'll never run a 6 minute mile.

Mikey analyzed the boy again. Dark hair, dark eyes, different eyebrows…nope…no…there was no way this kid was Cornelius Robinson's flesh and blood.

Which totally explained Wilbur's lack of smarts…

Seriously, the only thing they had in common was height…though Wilbur, who towered over Mikey, looked short beside his over six foot tall father.

Not even their personalities matched.

The blond-haired man seemed nice if a bit reserved—coldly polite—much better suited to laboratories and business meetings—which was why it seemed so odd for him to be sitting here in a ice cream shop.

Weren't they loaded?

Didn't he have better, more important things to do than taxi his son around town?

It just didn't make sense; I mean he was _**supposed**_ to be a super genius, right?

Mikey knew he was being extremely intolerant of the man…but it was understandable…_**he**_ was partly to blame for all of Mikey's misery…

Waking his father up to make that winning catch…jumpstarting his career…unforgivable…

Still, he may very well be the key to fixing it all as well…

That is…if he really _**did**_ have a time machine….

* * *

Cornelius was surprised to find plenty of strawberry ice cream in the bowl. He raised an eyebrow at his son.

Getting between Wil and his dessert was akin to reaching your hand into a garbage disposal.

Wilbur nudged the bowl at him, "It's delicious. I just got full."

His father picked up the spoon and took a bite. Good stuff…

They spoke about innocuous little things like weather, and school and eventually, a severe looking woman dressed in black arrived for young Master Michael.

"Well, it was very nice meeting you Dr. Robinson. I hope you don't mind that Wil and I were planning on hanging out this Saturday."

Wilbur blinked. They wha? When did they plan that?

"Really?" Cornelius grinned at his son. It'd be good to see Wilbur playing with a well-mannered little boy. Maybe some of it would rub off? One could always hope. "Well then, we'll see you on Saturday Mikey."

With that the pudgy boy bid them both farewells, before marching off—long nose in the air.

Cornelius polished off the dessert and an attendant in blaring pink whisked the empty dishes away.

"Well Son? We ready to go?"

"It's all soooo pink" Wilbur murmured, once again mesmerized by the sheer girly-ness: smiling suns and clouds and tinkling music. The floor sparkled, there were vases at every table, and the other inhabitants of the spot all seemed to be coming from ballet class.

"The spoons are pink, the dishes are pink, almost all the seats are heart-shaped Dad" he groaned—face clearly distressed; Like some poor soldier traumatized by what horrors he's seen.

And let's face it; they were literally IN no-man's land.

"I think I lost all my manly points for today" Wilbur whispered dejectedly.

"Come on Buddy, let's get you home."

"I…I kinda…liked the flowers though…"

Cornelius glanced at him in concern. Wide brown eyes stared back. _Am I too far gone?_ Was the unspoken question.

"We're watching Rambo tonight" his father announced matter-of-fact as he opened the door "We're going to earn those points back."

"It was good ice cream though" Wilbur offered as he slipped his poncho on and opened their umbrella.

"It was" his dad agreed and next time we'll go through the drive-thru."

* * *

R & R please : DDDD


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Meet the Robinsons

AN: Allo! Thank you for your reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. Yeah, Mikey's a brat : D Which makes him sooo much fun to write!

Now Onwards!

* * *

Chapter 2

_**…But Words Can Never Hurt You…right?**_

* * *

Cornelius had just finished typing up his report on Particle Fusion—very important, (he was holding a huge press conference tomorrow. Globetron and Syntech representatives would both be involved) when Wilbur entered the office.

He sent a fond smile over at his child that went unnoticed.

He blinked.

The teen was busy staring at the floor.

Cornelius craned a look over his desk…nope…no spills or fallen papers.

When Wil was younger he enjoyed finding patterns in the flooring or jumping from one tile to another…you know…avoiding "hot lava."

But the boy's eyes weren't tracing the ground beneath them…no…his gaze was just…boring into it.

Mouth down turned…shoulders slumped…eyebrows furrowed…

"Wilbur?" He got up and walked around the desk.

"Hey" Wil mumbled.

"How was practice?"

"…s'alright" the boy shrugged, eyes remaining fixed down.

"Still storming out there?" There was no need to ask that. One wall of Neil's office looked out into the sky; where he had a clear view of the turbulent weather—very strange for the season…though not nearly as peculiar as his son's current mood.

"Yeah,"

"Mom and I were talking earlier. We're thinking spinach casserole for dinner."

"Yeah, cool…whatever."

Wilbur HATED spinach with a passion. Even at thirteen, he'd hide under the table whenever it was served...or at least until a negotiation. Three bites and then he could eat whatever other course they had.

"Well, my shoes are flattered by the attention, Wil" he wiggled them for extra emphasis, waiting for a laugh that didn't come. "And I'm glad you're ready to give spinach a chance, but how about you tell me about your day?"

Kid must've had a _**tough**_ practice.

Wilbur shrugged his shoulders. He normally had SOMETHING to say about it. Good, bad, or bizarre.

"You feeling okay, Champ?" Cornelius checked for a temperature. "You don't seem warm."

"I'm fiiiine" his son answered irritated, brown eyes finally finding his.

"Then what's wrong, Son?"

The boy flinched a bit and looked back down.

"Did you pull something? Or twist your wrist, here let me see?" Cornelius gently took his son's left arm. Wil had fallen on it hard two years ago and ever since it'd been more susceptible to sprains.

Wilbur pulled away, "I'm FINE. I just…had a bad day."

"Yeah?"

Wilbur nodded but didn't elaborate.

Neil sighed, "Where's your mom?"

Franny had driven Wil over so they could beta test Linen XR90. He wanted them to have some fun tonight, testing the invention out.

Neil knew he'd be busy all of tomorrow, and likely exhausted by the time the conference was over. And Franny always enjoyed watching her husband work at what he loved. She confided that she especially loved seeing him take Wilbur under wing.

'_So adorable. He looks up to you so much. Neil, know you're his hero, right?'_

"Vending machine" Wilbur answered softly.

"Ah, getting a snack?"

"Mmhm"

"Wil? Is everything-"

"Hey Honey!"

"Hey Fran!" he glanced over his shoulder and found his gorgeous wife sauntering up.

She winked, when she noticed his attention and held up her bounty of snacks.

"I got us all a little something" She tossed Cornelius a bag of Ruffle's Cheddar Cheese.

"Heads up Sport!" Neil warned.

Wilbur barely caught his Nacho Cheese Doritos—staring vacantly at them for a solid three beats before joining his Mom in the two client seats in front of his Dad's desk.

As the inventor sat back down at his desk, he shared a concerned look with his wife.

He raised an eyebrow. _Has he been like this since practice? _

A slight jerked nod as she opened her Lays Barbeque Flavored Potato Chips. _Yes._

They began munching and sharing their day, while throwing surreptitious glances at their son—hoping he would jump in.

Wilbur's bag remained unopened…he felt far too nauseous to even consider it…

And talking? No chance…talking right now…would make him feel even worse…

* * *

Wilbur fell back onto his bed, hands massaging his temples.

LinenXR90 was really coming together. A few more tests and it'd be ready for some serious showcasing.

He should've been thrilled. Mom and Dad certainly were. Apparently, his name would be going down on it alongside Dad's.

Wilbur had found an alternate way to wire and program the drying cycle—more efficient—and voila now he was part of a joint-patent.

Dad was going to show him how all that legal stuff worked next week.

It should've been a moment of triumph…but….

But…

He couldn't stop thinking about earlier.

It had started like any other practice.

Well…besides the fact…he had a killer migraine…which only grew in intensity each passing hour…

_Wilbur had done his stretches, practiced a few pitches and blocks with his teammates, and while on deck for the next open court…Mikey had appeared. _

_Since their ice cream escapade, he kept showing up each day this week; popping in to talk with Wilbur. _

_Wil knows his dislike of Mikey was rather unfair. It's nothing to do with anything he's said or done, it was just…a feeling._

_The fact was; he couldn't help reacting uncomfortably whenever the kid was near. _

_Being around him was like taking a spoonful of arsenic. _

_There was such a-a…Wilbur didn't know how to describe it…dark atmosphere? In cartoons, the character would carry around a thundercloud…it always struck Wil as hilarious until now._

_He really wanted to cancel their (as his mother referred to it) "play-date" for Saturday…except…_

_His family seemed thrilled about it…_

_Uncle Art already had a pizza sensation planned._

_Uncle Gaston was eager to show off his cannon. _

_Aunt Billie had put her "new" train on the track._

_And Uncle Joe…was actually going to let __**him**__ use the T.V. remote…_

_In short they were all overjoyed he had a new "little friend."_

_Mom and Dad had already started piling board games for the boys to play. Buying snacks and planning trips to the movie store and park. _

_Dad had brought down PopperXLG, their seasoned Popcorn Popper (withstood the test of time—it was twice Wil's age!)_

_Yup, Family Robinson was pulling out all the stops. _

_And he didn't want to let them down…_

_It's true he didn't invite people over very often…come on, his family was kinda odd (Denture-hunting was a daily sport)…and usually his peers weren't there to see him at all…_

_He's had it happen over and over again…classmates faking friendship so they could come over, ditch him, and pester his parents with questions and praise…_

_That's what you get when you have celebrities for family… _

_The Chargeball games went on for a long time; his teammates had all been well-matched today (Which meant no escape from the dour boy)._

_Conversation swapped awkwardly through several topics before settling into family—Mr. Robinson in particular. _

_Mikey seemed very interested in the correlation between his father and his job._

_Wil remembered thinking, 'finally, a subject I'm comfortable with!' Come on, this was his father; Wil had known him for his whole life!_

_Boasting about his Dad was second-nature. The man was amazing! _

_Mikey had responded, "__**Yeah, your Dad seems really cool.**__"_

"_**He is"**__ Wilbur assured. Duh! He'd invented…like everything! You couldn't go two feet in Todayland without encountering one of his magnificent innovations. _

"_**I mean on top of all his accomplishments"**__ Mikey replied carelessly "__**And busy schedules, he even takes care of YOU."**_

_That struck him odd…_

"_**Well…yeah…I mean, he's my dad. Of course he takes care of me."**_

"_**That's what I mean though. He gave you his last name and everything. Real benevolent of him. I mean for a while, I thought it was just a ploy for humanitarianism. But he really treats you as family."**_

"_**Huh?"**__ something in his gut twisted sickeningly. _

"_**It's really nice of him. You know, especially since you're not his REAL son."**_

_The world stopped turning for a moment, grinding to a screeching halt. _

"_**Wha?"**_

"_**It's okay; I won't tell anyone if you're private about it."**_

"_**He…he IS my…dad…"**_

_Mikey winked conspiratorially, __**"Riiight. Got it"**__ pantomimed zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key. _

_Unaware or perhaps uncaring of the torment he'd just unleashed in the boy beside him. _

Doubt and fear that would keep the young teen up all night contemplating what would happen if that accusation was true…

* * *

Cornelius paced and back and forth in his bedroom. His black and white striped pajamas rustling as he moved.

All throughout dinner Wilbur had remained despondent, barely flinching when a bowl of ranch dressing landed on his head…or when its cold contents oozed down his neck and into his t-shirt.

No amount of coercion had helped. He would NOT tell anyone what was bothering him.

And then when Cornelius (at a loss of what more he could do for the evening) had bidden him a warm "Goodnight Son."

Wil just stood there, deer in the headlights—staying rigid in Neil's bear hug.

It wasn't an '_I'm-too-cool-for-this'_ maneuver…no…it seemed more like a '_have-you-seen-my-soul?_' response.

Very upsetting; he'd never seen his child like that.

Wilbur was such a vibrant, emotional (often dramatic) character that seeing any form of-of apathy in him was highly disconcerting.

Was he injured? Or distressed? Or sick? Or a combination of the three?

"Neil?"

"I'm worried about him" Cornelius sighed finally, sitting down on the foot of their king-size bed.

Franny crawled over to him, resting her head on his shoulder, "I know. He's not acting like himself."

"And he's not talking Fran. This is Wilbur. Wilbur talks" he ran a fretful hand through his hair "Wilbur talks a lot."

Franny smiled a bit guiltily into his neck, "He gets that from me."

"He gets that from **both** of us. He's a loquacious kid. He MUST be upset. But usually we can stumble our way to resolution unless he's embarra—Do you think this has something to do with the glasses? Do you think someone's teasing him?"

"I-I don't know Sweetheart."

"...Maybe I ought to dig out that old invention of mine: **ThoughtProcessor5.0** Then we could have an idea what he's-"

"No" his wife interrupted firmly "You remember how well that turned out with me."

He made a noncommittal sound in his throat, "I DID find out what you were thinking…"

His wife leveled him with a disapproving look.

"…and then some" he admitted.

"No Cornelius, mind-reading is not the answer here. Honey, we can't _**force**_ him to talk; we just have to be there for him when he's ready…whenever he's ready."

"But what if he doesn't _**become**_ ready. What if we're-we're stuck on a repeat! Cosmically doomed to-"

Franny placed two fingers against his lips, "Nobody's doomed." Honestly, father and son were sooo alike sometimes.

It probably didn't help that Cornelius was starting to watch Captain Time Travel with Wil. Undoubtedly, suffering first-hand what SHE discovered after three episodes: melodramatic monologues were a contagious side-effect for viewers.

"I don't want these negative feelings festering" he mumbled against her hand "He was so happy Fran. This morning he was happy and well-adjusted and hugged me goodbye after breakfast."

"I remember" she soothed, removing her fingers to caress his face "He's a teenager Honey. Everything is the end of the world, remember?"

He nodded begrudgingly—he'd had a ton of those moments and they both knew it.

"Now you have a big meeting tomorrow" she reminded him, massaging his shoulders "And you're going to need your wits against those competitors. You kick their nerd butts while _**I **_to get to the root of Wil's moodiness. Okay?"

"A sound strategy."

"We'll tackle this together. We're a team, Darling"

"What would I do without you?"

"One mystery we'll never know" his wife quipped—knowing full well that was a rhetorical question.

Cornelius grinned, pulling her into his lap for a kiss, "Maybe you're right. Maybe he DOES get all the chattiness from you."

She giggled as they climbed into bed and cuddled together under the covers.

"…I'm always right."

* * *

5: 30 am found Cornelius L. Robinson rushing around, double and triple-checking his briefcase.

He couldn't help the butterflies in his stomach; they'd be broadcasting the event.

One would think that after years of this, he'd be a master of his nerves, but he still gets a little tense every now and then.

A quick glance at the window revealed more overcast weather. Rain pattered softly against the glass…so strange.

"Handsome man"

Franny assessed as she leaned against their bureau; dressed in her house robe and nightgown, hair mussed and eyes still puffy from sleep.

In short…adorable.

He pecked her on the cheek and made to retrieve his briefcase.

"Hold on there" she straightened his collar and fixed his tie (he'll admit she always did a better job of it than him).

Hand on his tie she tugged him forward, kissing him flush on the mouth.

He sighed contently, resting his forehead against hers.

Brown eyes gazed into blue, "Go get 'em Honey."

He grinned.

* * *

Humming happily if off-tune, Cornelius took a travel tube to the entry way.

A quick pit-stop by the kitchen for a bagel and he'd be off.

He paused by his reflection in the microwave door, checking his teeth. Looked fine—all systems go.

Setting his briefcase down on the counter while he adjusted his watch and wedding band, he felt his neck hairs suddenly stand on end.

Something was off…

As he straightened his cuff links and suit jacket, he registered what it was.

Background noise…?

Sounded like the opening theme to one of Tallulah's soap operas, "All My Circuits."

The tele-vid was on in the living room…odd…as it was four hours too early for Joe's work out time.

He walked over to investigate where he found his son; sitting in the middle of the huge couch sectional.

Knees tucked up under his chin, arms holding them tight against his chest.

Eyes wide and unblinkingly focused on the tele-screen.

Eep…zombie mode…

He was such a thin child that being all scrunched up made him seem very small and insubstantial.

Vulnerable…

It naturally sparked Cornelius's protective side into high gear; his instincts actively seeking a threat to eliminate.

Already his eyes had scanned the room suspiciously four times—even though he KNEW the alarm system would've alerted him if there'd been an intruder.

He's thoroughly upgraded the mansion's security since the time fiasco. Think about it. One door left open resulted in a stolen time machine and endangered the whole time-space continuum!

And that was on the more positive side of the spectrum of '_**Worst-Case Scenarios**_.'

What if someone far more malicious had slipped in? Someone who could care less about thwarting a young Lewis' potential? Someone who _**really**_ wanted to ruin Cornelius' life?

Fame and fortune would be utterly worthless in the wake of having his family brutally ripped away from him.

"Son?"

"Oh…h-hello" Wilbur replied, glancing at him wearily. "Y-you're up early…"

There were dark circles around his son's eyes.

"Wil, Buddy, you having trouble sleeping?"

There's a glum, embarrassed sort of nod.

"Bad dream?"

Shrug.

"Insomnia?"

Shrug.

"Something fell over in your closet? Because if it did, I'm happy to investigate it for you."

He shook his head.

"Wilbur" he implored, sitting next to him "I can't help you, if you won't tell me what's wrong."

"…I just can't sleep. I thought…maybe out here…"

"Change of scenery?" Cornelius smiled.

His son nodded hesitantly.

"Sounds like a good hypothesis, but how about we embrace and modify some extraneous variables?"

He reached for the remote sitting on the coffee table and switched it a music station. Soft chimes and harp chords now filtered through the air, replacing the moody undercurrents the T.V. drama had to offer.

Much more soothing.

"There we go."

Cornelius then arranged the pillows more comfortably. Before walking over to the end of the couch and gathering several more blankets.

He returned and began layering them down on the sofa. After smoothing those out, he looked at his boy expectantly.

Wilbur just stared, watching him with some sad expression Neil couldn't place.

"Bedding set…Sedimentary rock all perfect from thousands of years, now where's the fossil?"

It was an old game they'd play whenever Wil was resisting bedtime.

And just like a charm, Wilbur slowly made his way over.

The inventor sighed relieved. Finally! At least a little normalcy.

Cornelius pealed back several blankets and the child slipped between them.

"There he is." Neil pulled the quilts up to his boy's chin "Gotta tuck him in nice and tight. Don't want him to erode away."

Cornelius gently removed his son's glasses, alarmed by how cold and clammy Wil's skin was.

"You're freezing! H.O.W.I.E, raise thermostat 8 degrees."

"Affirmative" a male electronic voice answered.

_Home. Operating. Wireless. Implement. Enterprise_: Essentially, it was a house computer that you could order about on trivial tasks: temperature, music, oven prepping, etc.

A simple software system, but that was necessary. Increasing the A.I. capacities of any program or machine had…potential for dangerous consequences.

If a bowler hat could dream of world domination, let's not allow a house to dream period.

Give an inch and they take a mile.

"Are you feeling sick Kiddo?"

"I…I don't feel so good" the boy admitted.

"Any aches? Chills? Sore throat?" The blond inquired anxiously, smoothing out the blankets repeatedly.

"My head hurts"

"Here I'll go grab you some medic-" slender fingers grabbed his hand.

Cornelius paused, feeling a sudden great heaviness in the atmosphere. It was a crucial moment; he could literally _**feel**_ it.

"Wilbur?" he knelt beside the couch, taking the smaller hand between both of his. "I'm all ears."

Wilbur swallowed several times before taking a deep shaky breath, "I-you…We…we _**are**_-"

"Honey! Don't forget your umbrella-shield!" Franny called from the entry.

The hand darted back beneath the blankets and Cornelius reluctantly stood back up.

"There you are! I'm glad I caught you!" She carried what looked like a simple umbrella but R.I. had improved their design years ago—resonating at just the right frequency to dispel rain away from their perimeter.

She handed him the device with a smile, "Don't want you drown out there. Now you really better get going before the staff freaks out that you're-Wilbur?" she shuffled over "Baby what are you doing up?"

He mumbled something incoherent.

"Wil's coming down with a bug" Cornelius answered.

"Oh no. Aww, Sweetie, I'm sorry" She knelt down beside their child pressing a hand to his forehead "Ooh, you're like an icicle. H.O.W.I.E.? Be a lamb and raise-"

"I already adjusted it."

"Oh?"

"…yeah, he did…" Wil murmured "he was gonna grab me some meds too...for my headache."

"Alright, we'll get you set up then. And I'll make you some toast, how's that sound, Baby?"

Wilbur nodded.

Cornelius stood by uncertainly, watching them both solemnly. He needed to leave right now, if he wanted to get to work on time. Whenever big events were planned, he made it a point for the staff to arrive early for set up.

His watch's timer began beeping, and he swiftly shut it off. He needed to leave RIGHT now.

Franny braved a smile, "I'll stay with him. We'll just take it easy today."

His son continued staring at him morosely…so quiet and withdrawn and sad…

Stupid meeting, Cornelius didn't want to go. Publicly debating the pros and cons of fusion-powered subway systems for a bunch of rabid journalists…tch…a complete waste of time.

But his staff needed him…Sometimes being the head of the company was real pain…

"I'll be home by seven tonight" the inventor stated pecking his wife on the lips.

He leaned over and kissed the top of Wil's head "Hope you feel better Buddy."

* * *

Read and Review Pleeeease! : D


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Meet the Robinsons. Or references to various stuff like Star Trek or badly punned medicines and soap operas. :D

AN: Allo! Thank you for your reviews! Hope you enjoy this next chapter! :D

Huzzah for Wilbur angst, jumping to conclusions, and parental concern!

The drama continues!

* * *

Chapter 3: Doubt

* * *

R.I's staff had been running around frantically since 6 am; filing reports, reciting speeches, running through projector pieces, moving hazardous experiments and substances to the lowest sublevels, staging the lobby where the debate will take place.

A.k.a. working their butts off to iron out any last-minute kinks.

Stressful on even the smoothest running days, so it definitely didn't help that twelve people called in sick, the floor waxer machine was malfunctioning again (leaving large wax puddles which everyone was slipping in), two interns dropped four carts worth of brand-new glass beakers, and for some reason the fire sprinklers in Lab 4 had gotten triggered and no one could shut them off.

In short, countless catastrophes which needed cleaning up immediately before they opened to the public—or lawsuits would definitely be in effect before 5pm.

And that wasn't even the worst part!

Their boss…was in a particularly surly mood—prone to snapping over the most trivial of things.

Thus, veteran workers split in pursuit of "Important Tasks" whenever he entered the room, leaving the interns to take the brunt of his ill mood today,

Finally Alice (who'd worked for the company for ages and took pity on a teen who was getting chewed out for stacking crates correctly) abruptly confronted him, "Alright Neil, what's wrong with the chick-a-dee?"

Cornelius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "He's sick."

The chubby woman tutted sympathetically, "Poor thing, there's a bug going around."

Her boss nodded miserably as he ran a hand through his hair.

Confident that she had his attention, Alice made a discreet shooing motion which the intern swiftly heeded, sprinting out of the room—like a little mouse escaping the cat.

"He's usually so healthy" the inventor stated "But whenever he's hit, he falls hard. And I worry about all the medications; I don't like too many chemicals running through him. He's got my tolerance to them…nonexistent. Which means he'll be loopy and confused and ugh!"

"We've still got another two hours before ShowTime; you want to go make a call?"

"…Yeah."

"Well then hop to it, and tell Wil I'm hoping he gets better soon."

"Thanks Al."

* * *

"How's he holding up?" Cornelius asked anxiously—watching his wife's face on the Tele-tron Monitor.

No make-up, hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, and she's dressed in jogger pants and t-shirt.

Mom-On-The-Job attire.

His child's been left in very capable hands…but he can't help worrying. Other parents might scoff at the common cold, Cornelius regarded it very seriously.

He'll always remember Wil's infancy where he caught a bad flu bug and stopped eating—had to spend three whole days in the hospital. Very scary. Mom and Dad never left his side.

"Very groggy and congested. Not too hungry, but I did get him to eat" Franny answered promptly, knowing how her husband took comfort in facts.

Her husband nodded attentively as she continued.

"He's holding down breakfast and lunch well. Toast at 6 am and a plain turkey sandwich at noon. Been drinking lots of juice and water. I think if he rests, he'll be back on his feet by Sunday. I've already called his coach and told him Wil won't be coming today. No problems there."

"Good, I'll swing by the store on my way home and grab some soup."

"Poor baby, he's not going to be able to play tomorrow" Franny sighed; it'd have been so nice to have the family meet his little friend.

"Do you have Mikey's phone number? We'll need to call his parents to cancel it."

"I'll ask Wilbur later, he's sleeping right now."

Cornelius sighed with relief, "Good, I think he's been staying up late again. I keep telling him how crucial sleep is for boys his age, but-"

"I know Dr. Dad" Franny smiled fondly "And I'll give you free reign to lecture away the moment he feels better."

Cornelius frowned, "I don't enjoy lecturing."

"Of course not, Darling."

"…I _**hate**_ seeing him sick."

She glanced back at the couch where Wilbur tossed and turned, sleeping fitfully.

"I know Honey, me too."

* * *

"_Dad?" Wilbur absently kicked his feet on the cabinet beneath the counter he was sitting on. _

"_Dad?" He repeated as he watched the inventor hunched over his latest metal monstrosity. _

"_Daaaaaaaaad."_

"_Stop that."_

_Wilbur blinked, caught off-guard by the harsh command. Usually he received a "Just a minute" or a 'Yeeeeeesss?' or a 'Wiiiiiiiiil.'_

"…_too loud?" the boy murmured._

"_Yes and besides that fact, it's incorrect."_

"_Huh?"_

_His father sighed exasperated, "We've…been meaning to tell you Wilbur…I'm NOT your biological father."_

_Stated so easily…like he was commenting on the weather…as though his casual dismissal of the foundation of Wil's existence wasn't shattering their universe into pieces… _

"_Wha-whaddya mean?"_

"_I'm not your Dad" Cornelius repeated, resuming his work._

"…_No…no you-you HAVE to be my dad. You…you've always-I-I always-we-we're-"_

"_You are NOT my son. I know you're not the brightest crayon in the box, but I think you'd have realized it by now. We are NOTHING alike. We LOOK nothing alike. We HAVE nothing in common."_

_Shocked silence ensued. _

"_I'm busy right now; please go play with your little toys"_

_Wilbur slid off the counter—numb, unbelieving, devastated…_

_As he trudged to the door, he overhears his father muttering, "Think he'd be grateful but oh noooo-"_

"_Dad…" He clipped the doorway, staggering under the weight of it all. _

"_Never appreciates how I have more important things that I could be-"_

"…_Dad…?"_

"…_such a nuisance…"_

"_Daddy __**please**__ don't say-"_

Something cold and wet landed on his face and Wilbur awoke with a start.

"Sorry Baby, are you okay?" his mother asked, crouched beside him.

He breathed in and out rapidly, focusing on her.

A dream. Just a bad dream…didn't mean anything…hopefully.

Franny smiled, "You were getting a little warm, so I thought that would help."

Wilbur reached up with trembling fingers and felt a washrag on his forehead.

"What's the matter Sweetie, did you have a bad dream?"

He nodded.

"I'm sorry, want to tell me about it?"

She leaned against the couch, one soft hand petting his hair as the other smoothed out his twisted blankets.

He opened his mouth but nothing came out—it was like all of his words were stuck in his throat. And he couldn't share them or swallow them or anything.

All made more painful as yet another cruel possibility filtered through his mind…

"_You know…especially since you're not his REAL son"_

Did he even know if he was hers?

_

* * *

_Carl brought him down some comic books to read while mom gave him another dose of sinus medicine and some Tylenol.

He supposed they were helping his symptoms but…But whenever his eyes moved too fast or he changed position suddenly, dizziness set in.

He watched Carl arrange the stack based on consecutive numbering by issue.

Brilliance struck.

Carl was a robot AND family and had been around for YEARS. Great memory capabilities. If anyone knew things for sure it was him.

But how would he feel being told upfront by a robot…cold hard facts… _'Sorry Little Buddy they were going to tell you when you turned sixteen.'_

Could he handle that?

"C-c-carl?"

"You got the chills again, Little Buddy?" the robot tucked the blankets around his charge more securely.

_No. I got the fear of uncertainty. _Best to do some subtle detective work…

"Carl…can I see the photo albums volumes 3 and 4?"

* * *

Flipping through pages of memories, Wil searched meticulously for any clue while dread filled his gut.

He WAS a Robinson right?…right?

There were teenager snap shots of his parents; all nervous smiles and tentative hand-holding.

Followed by tons of mushy newly wed poses in their early adulthood...sheesh, they couldn't keep their hands off each other or be farther than four inches away...

They _**seemed**_ to love each other…

"Hey Sweetie, whatcha looking at?"

"Gah!" he dropped the album "Bub!"

Franny grimaced. Oooh, that congestion was really taking its toll. All his m's had transformed into b's.

She picked up the album and sat beside her son, opening it up at the middle.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise as she gazed down at her wedding photos, was this it? Was this the day Wilbur wanted to talk about romance? Yes! She'd been waiting for ages to share their love-story.

"I had a question" he sniffled.

"Uh huh," she smiled, handing him a tissue—waiting for a confession of _'there's a girl in my class and she's kinda…cool.' _

"You and Dad were happy right?" he motioned to the picture where young Cornelius and Franny beamed at the camera in their tux and gown. Assuming they loved each other. Assuming Wilbur was AT LEAST Franny's son. Assuming that HAPPY couples didn't HAVE affairs.

He gritted his teeth apprehensively.

Her head tilted in confusion, "Honey, we're still happy. Happier actually."

"People say barriage kinda ya know…kills that happy stuff."

Franny frowned, "No no no. Marriage isn't what does that-it's-well it IS a relationship. And of course no relationship is perfect-"

At her son's shocked expression, she gently explained, "Even your father and I have our disputes. But we love each other and are ready to work through any challenges we face—together."

He nodded slowly, still a bit stunned. He didn't think his parents ever really fought...or so he hoped…challenges, huh?…was he one of those challenges?

"So yes. Some parts are a little rough. My way or the highway doesn't cut it anymore. You'll have to change your perspectives, problem-solving strategies, and communication skills from when you were single; because now there are two of you and no mind-reading…_usually_." She added under her breath.

At her son's wide-eyed stare, she continued a bit more delicately in a more optimistic direction. (He was too young to fully grasp all of this. You had to WORK at Happily Ever After.)

"What I'm trying to say is being married does NOT 'kill happiness.' No no no. You have someone to share your life with! New adventures Sweetheart, ones so great and challenging that you NEED your soulmate present. It's a wonderful, blessing."

She flipped through the pages reminiscing aloud for her son's benefit. He needed examples:

Lazlo's birth, adding another wing to the Robinson House and all the construction chaos that followed, Tallulah's birth, Franny's first international concert, Gaston retiring from the circus after a bad cannon fire.

"Robinson Industries' 6th Anniversary," Franny noted. Goodness she and Neil looked so young! "You, your father, and I spent the whole day talking to reporters and posing for cameras."

Wilbur blinked in surprise, searching the photo and finding nothing; every nook, every cranny, every corner to no avail.

"I'b not there" he stated contritely.

"Oh yes you are" she trilled sing-song back to him.

He raised an eyebrow, not amused.

Franny smiled and tapped the photo—finger resting on her younger self's slim waist, "Somebody found out he was a daddy that night!"

* * *

Franny sighed as she stood in the kitchen arranging their family box of medicine before she put it back into the cupboard.

Very odd conversation.

Asking if his parents were happy in their marriage…

Then regarding her pregnancy with him so uncertainly...

It almost seemed like Wilbur doubted his origins.

Ridiculous. The resemblance between mother and son was uncanny! He was like a male-versioned carbon copy of herself

She shook her head. That boy. He'd been watching too many soap opera dramas. Next he'll be asking if they're sure the hospital gave them the right baby to take home.

"Hey Aunt Franny, got a cold?" Tallulah asked, leaning against the door frame.

"It's Wilbur. He's not feeling too good."

"Drats."

Franny raised an eyebrow, "What can I do for you?"

"Oh well" the red-headed teen fidgeted. "Tommy's 'sposed ta call me today. I was hopin' to recruit Wil to help me screen the phone lines. Laz is being a pain lately and keeps hangin' up on whoever's askin' for me. Ugh, brothers."

Franny felt her lips twitch in amusement. Oh the stories she could tell about her overprotective siblings.

"Well I'm afraid you'll be flying solo. Willy's down for the count."

Tallulah nodded, offered a quick "hope he gets better" and was about to saunter away when-

"Tallulah?" Franny asked—a sudden suspicion snaking through her mind.

"Yeah?"

"You don't let Wilbur watch '_All My Circuits'_ do you?"

The girl cringed guiltily, "Eh…sometimes I'm watching it while he's doin' homework and stuff."

"You DO tell him how unlikely all that stuff is, right?"

"…eeeyeah."

"He's very impressionable Lulu."

The fashionista nodded, nervously straightening the Saturn styled ring belt of her teal dress.

Franny pursed her lips discontentedly. Well that answered one question.

She and Neil were going to have yet another long conversation with their son about Tele-vid and Reality.

"Ummm" Tallulah bit her lip "Uh, what parts was he talkin' about?"

"What part are you thinking about?"

The redhead flushed as bright as her hair.

"Lulu! You let him watch that stuff!"

"No! I change the channel when it's getting' fresh with the PG 13 rating! It's just…well he's a smart cookie Auntie. I think he puts two and two together. 'specially since David's been flirty with Amy since Tabitha was attacked by the crocodile—they're always getting' all gooey with each other in elevators and stuff. Even with Amy gettin' married to Teddy, they're all clingy and now that baby Edgar's in the picture and the whole 'who's the father' arc has started-"

"I'm setting a parental block."

"Heh…eyeah…that'd prob'ly be best, huh?"

"Yep."

The teen sighed. Now she was going to have to ask Marcia to start recording the series for her.

Now was the time to leave, before Franny asked about any other shows. If her Aunt blocked '_Cyber Date-a _'she'd never survive.

"Well…uh…Hope Wil shows that cold who's boss…Oh! And whatever you do, don't give him Cleartron X."

"…why?"

"That stuff's uber strong and I'm pretty resilient. I swear one pill and I was bouncin' off the walls with it. Totally loopy!" she called over her shoulder as she sauntered away.

Franny stared at the box of capsules in her hand.

She'd already given him two.

* * *

Well…he was definitely his Mom's son.

There was enough…evidence for that

If all the photos of nine-month-ed glory hadn't been enough, his mother happily and graphically informed him how dear he was.

33 hours of labor…ouch…that was REAL LOVE.

Heh, heh.

Love. Love. Love.

His head swam as he moved, lugging the photo album back to his parents' bedroom retreat. They had a special shelf where they kept all their memorabilia.

Lots and lots and LOTS of pictures of their family decorated the hallway he was traversing. Lots of the three of them since…which made sense…this was _their_ wing…

They were happy weren't they? All of their faces were smiling, right?

He tried to take a corner too fast and promptly tripped.

"Whoa there buddy!" Carl's extendable arms grabbed him securely, saving his face from an intimate meeting with the carpet.

A photo had slipped out during the action; Wil picked it up curiously turning it over; a tall, dark eyed, dark-haired man in a dapper suit smiled handsomely up at him with one arm wrapped around Franny.

"Who is this?"

Carl's LED eyes scanned it, "Oh that's Dr. Calvin Isaacs C.E.O. of Syntech he-"

Wilbur glanced at the photo confused. The man was holding her pretty snug into his side…almost as if…

"He…knew Bub?"

"Had a real soft spot for Franny" Carl replied easily "helped her out a lot with her frogs when she was first starting out. Real friendly-"

"Oh…" his spirits plummeted.

"Yeah, but Franny's heart always belonged to your D-"

"…_not his REAL son"_

"Kind of a scandal for a while-"

Maybe he wasn't!

"-she was happily married but he-"

The young teen glanced at the man sizing him up, comparing, wondering…

"finally backed off once _**you**_ were in the pict-"

He _**HAD**_ to know.

"Guess he took the hint! Sheesh some people have to have it spelled out for-"

The album hit the floor, photos scattering out.

Wilbur blinked confusedly at the mess, while Carl watched him wearily.

All the blood had drained from the boy's face. He looked ready to keel over.

"Buddy? Maybe you should go lie down; I'll take care of this" the golden robot assured him.

Wilbur stared at him—brown eyes wide in his pale face, before muttering a breathy "Kay."

* * *

Thoughts looped around his head at record speed. He was drowning in maybe's.

His shoulder bumped the doorframe hard as he staggered to his bedroom.

A tiny voice whispered soothingly in the back of his mind about '_double recessive alleles_' and '_overreacting. Take a breath and relax_.'

But if Dad wasn't DAD then-then-everything he knew was-

He laughed suddenly—the stress getting to him—She's breakin' up Captain!

He snickered, well on the bright side if Cornelius _**wasn't**_ his dad, well he wouldn't be the boss of him anymore!

No more lectures! No more _'don't-talk-to-me-that-way-I'm-your-father-young-man' _admonishments! No more _'when-I-was-your-age-I-listened-to-my-parents' _spiels.

Nope! No more agonizing over perfect Father's Day presents! No more feeling dumb because he wasn't like his father. No more comparisons.

No more…no more Father-Son bonding adventures. No more tucking him in or attending his Chargeball games. No more calling for Dad when he got into sticky situations or had a bad dream or there was something lurking outside his window. No more being called 'Son.'

He laughed again, choking a bit as his throat closed up. To think, the man who raised him wasn't his actual-

WAIT! He didn't actually KNOW that yet. YET.

And what was HE getting all upset about? He shouldn't be sad. He should be angry!

And if this all WAS a lie-a-a-trick, then Wilbur DESERVED to know. He deserved to know RIGHT now.

_**RIGHT**_ NOW!

Brilliant plan! It was like a light bulb had suddenly flashed on in his head.

He'd. Just. Ask!

Yeah!

The room spun dizzyingly as he wiped sweat from his forehead.

Yeah, to heck with all this uncertainty.

He pulled on his discarded jeans from yesterday. Walking past his desk where his earpiece sat on its charging station.

Yeah, he'd totally just come out with it upfront and Dad would tell him!

He started laughing some more.

Dude it was soooo simple.

Why didn't he do this earlier?

O-kay!

He glanced out his window where a torrential downpour was in place.

Hmm. Kindy rainy. All the mud and puddles would squish between his toes.

He shook his head vigorously. Silly boy! That's what he had shoes for!

He pushed his window up, the icy breeze feeling nice on his flushed face.

* * *

R.I.'s staff continued to avoid their C.E.O. as much as possible. He'd calmed considerably since making a private call home.

But he was still…edgy.

Which was a two-sided sword: Good in that it meant the other companies were in for a lashing once the debate started, bad for any of R.I employee who got in his way before then.

Cornelius sighed. Less than thirty minutes until the debate.

Maybe he'd text an '_I love you_' to Franny.

An affectionate '_I love you 2! Good Luck_!' would do worlds of good for his ego.

He pulled his earpiece out of his pocket and switched it back online.

Whoa! 18 missed calls! Almost all of them from his wife. Now what in the world could be going on?

As if sensing his thoughts, the phone vibrated in his hand and he answered, "Fran! Wha-"

"Cornelius! Thank Goodne-Is he there? Say he's there! I've checked everywhere. His phone's on his desk—don't know what he's think-"

"Franny? Honey. Slow down I-

"-t here."

"What's wrong?"

"He's NOT here!" hysteria and fear lacing every syllable.

Cornelius' stomach tightened into knots.

"Wilbur?" he murmured faintly.

"He's **_GONE_**!"

* * *

Read and Review Pleeeeaaaase! Oh medication…sometimes it makes things better…and sometimes it makes things worse. : D


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Meet the Robinsons.

AN: Hey all! Sorry for the delay. Life's been busy! Thank you sooo much for your reviews. I hope you continute enjoying the show!

Okay this chapter's pretty Wil-centric : D

**Chapter 4: Mission Incorrigible**

* * *

Wilbur Robinson raced towards R.I.—sneakers slapping the wet pavement—so awesome that Da-er-Cornelius invented sidewalks that moved—he'd be there in no time!

While everyone else was darting from one awning to the next, he sprinted forward; running through the rain against a cool wind.

He knew people were giving him odd looks, but the water dripping down his face felt thoroughly refreshing.

Gah! He was so hot.

He removed his jacket, tying it around his waist.

Almost there.

He stopped short of Robinson Industries' parking lot. T.V. Broadcasting vans were parked in front with a huge throng of people eager to enter.

His mind buzzed a bit. Riiight…there was…an event of some sort…here…today…

Something about a…meeting for…sub syst…something?

So the front entrance wasn't an option. Side and back doors would be thoroughly screened for intruders. An unaccompanied thirteen year old trying to make his way to the CEO's office would no doubt raise some eyebrows.

Thankfully, he knew a secret entrance:

Ventilation shaft here he came!

* * *

Cornelius Robinson rushed through the hall at break-neck speed losing more than one tag-along aide with his long stride.

Thunder rolled and lightning flashed through the windows.

Wilbur was out there alone and sick in a storm…Cornelius' heart pounded harder each second that the cold hard reality of that sunk deeper.

Terrifying…

Just thinking about Wil missing on a bright, sunny day was enough to fry his nerves…this…this was terrible!

It was overwhelming: the helplessness, the anxiety…the uncertainty…

As well as all the questions he'd been unable to ask his wife.

How long had he been missing before Franny noted his absence?

Did she review the security cameras or ask J.A.C.O.B.?

What was the last topic they'd talked about?

Did Franny say something to-to _**trigger**_ this response?

He'd swallowed them down, knowing he'd be unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

He knew it wasn't her fault.

He _**knew**_ that…and yet…

He couldn't help feeling frustrated.

Why didn't she stay close to him?

Why wasn't she checking on him regularly?

But he supposed his real anger was at himself.

His fists clenched, he had known something was wrong this morning. Gut reaction and paternal instinct had set off alarm bells in his head…which he ignored…Darn it Neil, why did you leave?

Should've called in sick and stayed home—this never would've happened.

His fingers twitched; he _**had**_ a time machine. He could alter things.

No, he couldn't afford to think like that. The time-space continuum was too delicate for him to go traipsing about.

The windows rattled as harsh winds blew; Wil's illness would no doubt be exacerbated by the weather.

And if his health was being jeopardized, his safety was undoubtedly so.

Bad weather brought out awful drivers…as well as sinister ones.

Already horrible scenarios were playing out in his head many of which started with, _'Hey Kid, its pourin' out there, ya wanna ride?'_

Or ending with thrusters screeching, crashing, and shattering glass…

And this was ALL assuming Wilbur left of his own volition…

The vulnerable child he'd left this morning hardly seemed capable of holding a conversation, let alone slipping through a window and climbing down the lattice.

Leading to the even more disturbing possibility: ABDUCTION…

He had a time machine. He had a time machine. He had a time machine. The fact spun around his head at an almost dizzying speed. A mantra that repeated over and over with every step he took.

"Dr. Robinson, please! You're already supposed to be down in the lobby for the open-"

He silenced the man with a glare. These aides were getting on his nerves; they'd been specifically hired to help in these particular kinds of events—keep things running smoothly.

And that was the ONLY thing they worried about. Every second had to go according to their blasted schedule.

They didn't CARE about the life that went on beyond the glamorous bubble of "ShowTime."

Well they'd come to learn that for Cornelius L. Robinson his family came first. End of story. As if that could even be questioned!

As if he cared about some _**stupid**_ Televid spectacle…especially when DEFCON 1 was going down in his household...

True, he hadn't relayed the details to them only mentioning that he had to return home.

But certainly the emotional turmoil was showing?

And even if they couldn't read the worried, fearful, and upset emotions that were flitting over him. Couldn't they pick up on the '_I'm-distinctly-aggravated-by-aides-who-badger-me-after-I-tell-them-to-beat-it_' looks he was sending?

Every intern in the building certainly could; going out of their way to vacate the hallways he was storming down.

"But Sir-Sir! The debate! Robinson Industries is depending on you to represent the company's platform! Your speech-" the man announced waving the index cards in a 'duh' fashion.

"Oh I'll tell you what you can do with that speech" the inventor growled "You can just shove-"

"Cornelius what's going on?" Dr. Johnson asked, sliding slightly on the over-polished linoleum.

"Family emergency, Wil-"

"Sir you need to-" another aide jogged up, mouth already flapping on various tasks he "needed" to do.

No. The only thing he needed to do was go grab his keys.

And call the police if Franny hadn't already.

Or maybe circle the area a couple of times.

Or D. all of the above.

He burst into his office; a wrathful force; mouth opened, teeth bared, ready to tell the vultures to scram when-

He blinked.

Wilbur blinked back, staring at him almost unassumingly from a chair in front Cornelius' desk.

There he was; dripping wet in a CTT baseball cap, jeans and t-shirt—like he swam here.

"Wilbur!" he exclaimed, automatically moving towards him.

"Corneel-neely-"

The inventor raised an eyebrow at the transgression, "_**Dad**_ will do just fine."

It was sort of an unspoken rule. If they weren't in his past, Cornelius' name—his "only" name where Wilbur was concerned—was Dad.

"Wilbur, you're drenched!"

The youth shivered violently.

Cornelius glanced at his aides.

"Grab some towels will you? And some heaters! And a cot!" his subordinates scuttled to do his bidding. It was about time they did something useful.

"I've g-gotta t-talk to you" Wilbur announced—though the usual determined air of his voice was lost in chattering teeth.

His father was already checking him over; from taking his pulse, to checking his arms for bruises, to holding his chin firmly and studying his face carefully—checking the dilation of each pupil.

Other than being soaked and sickly, Wil SEEMED alright…

"Gotta ask y-you sobethin'-"

"Sir" a brown-haired aide (Ralph?) replied, setting the towels down on the desk harder than needed—clearly someone didn't enjoy being ordered around like a maid. Well that was too bad.

Dad duties took precedence. Always.

The blond pulled a towel from the stack.

"Grab the medic, I want her to-"

"She's tending to Stone," Dr. Johnson replied entering the room briskly and setting down a heater "she slipped in wax and-"

"Well the moment she's done, I want her to give Wil a check-up"

"You got it Boss," the man nodded as he flipped the device on. "I'll tell her-"

"Yes but sir," the aide interrupted, "I must insist-"

"Now my son and I would like a moment…alone."

"Sir we-"

"NOW" Dr. Robinson barked—no nonsense, no argument, end of discussion.

The door shut with a precise click.

Through it all, Cornelius' eyes never left his son's face.

"Come here" the blond ordered.

Years of conditioning had Wilbur shuffling forward—sneakers squashing loudly as he moved.

His father steered him in front of the heater and handed him a towel, before hurrying over to his desk.

"I swear…Gonna catch pneumonia" his father scolded as he ruffled though several drawers "Ah there we go."

"I have to a-"

"Now get out of those wet things, dry off, and slip that on" tossing his find to the boy.

Wilbur toweled himself off before reluctantly changing into his father's spare shirt.

Cornelius had long ago learned that a life of inventing was rough on clothes. He always kept some on hand for…mishaps.

Now he was especially grateful—Sitting in cold wet clothes was a guaranteed way of inviting hyperthermia.

The light blue button up fell just short of his son's knees. Wil might be tall but his father was _**much**_ taller.

It's a testament to how undoubtedly ill and out of it Wilbur was; the shirt was getting horribly mis-buttoned.

"Lose the shoes…and socks. Here" the inventor instructed, handing him an extra pair of socks.

The boy sighed, reluctantly pulling them on.

Cornelius nodded approvingly; again much too long, but they'd keep his feet dry and warm—temperature was so important to maintain.

The inventor maneuvered his chair from behind his desk and wheeled it over in front of the heater.

He'd installed a warming function last November when he was tired of typing reports in the cold. (He'd always hated the cold—Franny would call him a humbug whenever they went skiing. She would ski; he'd stay in the cabin all toasty with hot cocoa.)

He'd have Wilbur nice and warm in no time.

Once the boy was seated, Cornelius grabbed another towel plopping it on his son's head.

Assured that Wil was alright, anger was bubbling up through the haze of sheer relief and concern.

"Now what in the world were you thinking young man!" Though the harsh words were undermined by how gently he was toweling the boy's head dry.

Sitting there wide-eyed in an oversized shirt, feverish, and unsteady and-

Cornelius couldn't stay mad—frustrated yes, but…He was far too relieved that his child was safe.

He took several deep breaths to swallow down the powerful feelings raging in his chest.

Yelling at his son even if it was out of love and fear would NOT help the situation.

And Wil looked far too pitiful to admonish right now.

Fidgety and jittery, he was clearly suffering some nasty side-effects from Cleartron X: racing thoughts, drowsiness, anxiety, confusion, and lack of concentration.

_Oh Franny, Wilbur can barely manage kiddy doses of aspirin…_

Wilbur sniffled; rubbing his nose on the too long sleeve.

Cornelius sighed and handed his son the tissue box on his desk.

"Everyone's been worried sick about you. Now what exactly were you trying to do?"

"Need to talk to you" he mumbled softly.

"Okay. But why couldn't you call me?"

Wilbur blinked, mulling it over before shaking his head vigorously.

The action didn't agree with him and he slipped forward a bit— his father swiftly steadied him.

"Face to face" Wilbur replied, eyes crossing momentarily.

"And it couldn't wait until I got home?"

"S'important."

Cornelius felt his face twitch; he was so stressed. "Important" in Wil's book had been known to be '_What's for dinner tonight_?' or '_Do you know where the remote is, Uncle Joe and I can't find it?_' or '_What's the difference between crocodiles and alligators?_'

He'd been interrupted in the middle of an international meeting championing Hover Transportation because Wil was doing homework and couldn't remember the capital of South Dakota.

"Alright." Neil blew out an exasperated breath, the kid's mental process was just…out of it…it'd be best to get whatever "Important" thing Wilbur was fretting about out in the open.

"What is it?"

"I know…" Wilbur replied, fingernails digging into the armrests of the chair.

Cornelius frowned at the action; that was a nice chair!

"You know what?"

"I-I KNOW…"

"Son?" the inventor was truly perplexed.

"Don't call me that! What makes you think you're allowed to call me that?"

"Twenty-three chromosomes" his father deadpanned.

"Nu-uh."

Cornelius placed a hand on the teen's forehead; burning up—No wonder things weren't adding up for the boy.

"Wilbur-"

"What makes YOU so sure?"

"Excuse me?"

"What makes you so sure you ARE my Dad, hmm?"

Cornelius blinked; jaw slackening in disbelief.

Seriously? That wasn't the reason Wilbur raced down here, was it? They were NOT really having this conversation were they? What was he supposed to say? He thought they'd already covered this one…_kiddo…remember that whole birds-and-bees talk…and those awful seminars they made you participate in at school…I was…kinda involved. Eeeeyeah, active role in your __**whole**__ existence here. _

The blond shook his head, "Wilbur, you're not…feeling good right now, so you're confused." _And delusional…_

"Oh well, isn't THAT convenient?"

"Buddy, did you have a bad dream?"

"I KNOW the TRUTH!" Wilbur insisted.

"Riiight. Now I'm sure you had a bad dream, and that it seemed very real. But I assure you Wil, I'm not an alien or a robot or an evil twin and I- "

"You didn't _**spawn**_ me! It's impossible!"

The inventor rolled his eyes, "I know you don't think I'm cool enough to have spaw-er-fathered you. But I did and you're going to have to accept that-"

"LIESSSS!"

Cornelius massaged the bridge of his nose, _I…can't reason with him right now…_

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

"We have the supplies Sir"

"Bring them in."

* * *

"Uh huh, he's here" Cornelius assured his wife over his earpiece. "Yes, he's safe. Bring him a change of clothes; he's soaked to the bone. I'm-"

He straightened and re-straightened his glasses. Nervous tick he'd had for years.

"Ohhhhh yeah. Yeah. Those meds packed a serious punch. He's loopy and wired and-Ugh. I know it. I KNOW it. For Goodness Sakes Fran, he doesn't think I'm his father."

He winced at the loud exclamation on the other end.

"How do I-How do I know? Because that's what he told me Franny! He told me that there's no way I can be his father. He seems to honestly believe it."

Cornelius ran a hand through his hair, "It's ridiculous! I dunno if he's watched another one of those Evil Twin shows or Body Snatchers remake or what but I'm losing patience Fran. I want you here so we can explain to him. Ugh, I don't know where he got such an idea. I mean, where would he come up with that all of a sudden? Someone said something. I know it and I swear when I learn who fed him such a lie, I'm gonna-"

He made a sound of frustration.

"Yes. Mmmhmm. Yes. He'll be in my office. I love you Franny. Drive safely."

Cornelius reentered just as two interns (snagged by Dr. Johnson) finished setting up the cot.

"Now you both can grab chairs and wait outside the door, my wife will be here shortly and then you can return to your prior duties."

The interns scuttled away—no doubt grateful to escape even if only for a moment.

"Now YOU Mister are going to stay right here," he steered the boy over to the cot.

"Sit"

The boy plopped down; a mixture of his own weariness, his father's heavy hands on his shoulders, and the cot hitting him in the back of his knees.

"But-"

"Stay"

"But-"

"No"

"Dr. Robinson Sir-" Ralph popped in waving his pocket planner, "Sir-"

"Just a minute-"

"Sir they-"

Hard blue eyes glared at him, the man retreated effectively silenced and intimidated.

Cornelius turned back to his child, easing him back onto the pillow, "We can talk in an hour or so, alright? The debate will have a recess then. Mom's on her way, so until then just rest. Okay?

"But-"

"Can you do that for me, Champ?"

"…kay."

"That's m'boy."

* * *

The moment the office door shut, Wilbur threw back the blanket, swung his legs off the cot and stood.

Trying to sit still in moments of turmoil drove him crazy; he was a pacer.

Pacing lent him a sense of action which always did wonders for his nerves.

On wobbly legs Wilbur wandered about his father's (now empty save him) office. A place he'd known…his whole life.

He'd been in it so often; it always felt like an extension of their home.

There's the knick in Dad's desk from where Wil had rode a supply cart into it. (Eeeyeah, he's not quite sure why it seemed like a good idea either. But it had been fun—at least until he got the lecture of a lifetime.)

There's the floor ventilation grate he'd lost his favorite toy spaceship down. It had been just slender enough to fall through—yeah…loud crocodile tears ensued…which while embarrassing now was acceptable then (he was five!). Dad had to unscrew it and plunge his arm down there to grab it.

There's where he'd lost his first tooth when Dr. (well then he'd been an assistant) Calbridge had accidentally hit him in the face with a beaker.

Now they had an ongoing gag of yelling "Fore" anytime one of them entered the room and the other was there.

They insisted it was a provision against future accidents; Dad was never amused.

Dang…he always thought of him as Dad. It was hardwired into his brain.

The teen sighed—eyes falling on his father's lab coat tossed carelessly over the desk.

He reached a hand at the plastic clip that read Dr. Robinson; letting his fingers run down the cords where one of his father's ID tags hung.

Wilbur unhooked it, holding it in his hand as he adjusted his glasses.

_Dr. Cornelius L. Robinson _

_R.I. Head Scientist_

_000-98735_

The card itself had one large light, almost iridescent silver stripe running across it horizontally.

Ranking System: Platinum.

To other scientists and inventors it was a moment to pause and gape: this dude was a super high muckety muck.

There were only twelve scientists in the world ranked this and Wil lived with him…

But to him he was _**always**_ Dad…

He fiddled with the tag—smirking as he thought of how the science realm would react at such sacrilege.

Dad would usually just sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose, '_Wilbur please stop that._'

Wilbur frowned as he noticed one blond hair in his hand.

He held it between his thumb and index finger.

So pale and different from his own head of hair.

Hmm…there were probably fan clubs who would kill for this…

Probably try to clone him or something…

He shuddered at the thought of _**two**_ Dads to order him around.

It was fascinating though…

That all of your genetic DNA could be held in something so small and insignificant as a strand of hair.

Forensic studies often made connections between culprits and crime scenes based on a few remnants of DNA.

And why not?

They were like 99.999 % reliable in identification.

Heck that's why they were often used in…

Wilbur's eyes widened…

Paternity tests!

Of course!

Wilbur found himself nodding, almost shocked how he hadn't considered it before.

It was brilliant…yup...and essential! Considering how his request for honesty was brutally denied…

Really, Dad had totally dismissed him. As if his query wasn't even worth listening to.

Well if the inventor wasn't going to be upfront with him, he'd have to draw his own conclusions.

And how better than with the Scientific Method?

Dad had been drilling that one into him since…forever…

**PROBLEM: **What is the nature of father and son's relation? (An excellent question)

**OBSERVATION:** _Supposed_ family members Cornelius L. Robinson and Wilbur A. Robinson share nooooo similarities in appearance…or personality…or anything…save a mutual preference for funnel cake.

**RESEARCH: **The two relatives in question have never resembled each other at any stage of the younger male's lifespan.

**HYPOTHESIS:** The two Robinsons are NOT related. **EXPERIMENT:** Use the Analyzer 2000 in Lab 5 to perform a paternity test.

Awesomeness. Take that 5th grade teacher Mrs. Ludwig! See! Wilbur Robinson CAN plan something and go about it in an orderly fashion! He just sucks at organizing book reports…and has yet to improve…

But that was beside the point; He had a plan…now to put it in motion!

He stuffed his father's ID badge into the shirt's front pocket (that could definitely come in handy later).

Wilbur retrieved his soggy wallet from his father's desk, carefully sliding the blond hair under the plastic holding his School ID in place. He then shoved that into the front pocket as well, grateful that his father's shirt had such a deep pocket. Though…he guessed that for inventors that was a must, they loved toting stuff around. In a roomful of scientists there'd be all sorts of gizmos and tools amongst them.

Heck, he swore he'd seen one Chemist retrieve an extra beaker, test tubes, thermometer, and tongs from inside his lab coat. Dude, it could've been a Vegas magic act!

He hurried over to the door placing his hand over the scanner, awaiting the positive chime it'd make when opening.

It didn't come…instead the panel flashed digitals letters stating:

_Wilbur Robinson Is Not Permitted Access_

His mouth twisted into a scowl; his father had programmed a child lock.

Their house was wrought with those pesky things. It was like Dad's default move to keep him out of interesting stuff.

Still, barriers like these just meant you had to be more creative in overcoming them.

He climbed onto his Dad's desk, perhaps a bit more unsteadily than was his norm but he regained his balance soon enough. Then heaved himself onto the tall silver filing cabinet in the corner.

Kneeling on the cold metal, he reached up, slowly working his fingers into the grooves of the ceiling tile—moving it aside easily, he had years of practice…

* * *

Creeping about the hallways in his state of dress (or lack thereof) was…disconcerting to say the least.

Hardly inconspicuous; It made him wonder if James Bond ever had to sneak anywhere in his boxers.

Wilbur WOULD have just slipped his own clothes back on but Dad had taken them with him. Probably dropped them off with Linen XR90; Meaning they'd be on Level 8 and he needed to get to Level 6.

And he'd found from previous experience that whenever you ventured off-course for something "extra" you got caught REAL fast.

That's just how luck works. It runs out when you get greedy.

Still, it WAS unfortunate that he had to keep ducking around corners and hiding under benches every time he heard footsteps…

Wil was a gifted smooth talker, he preferred talking his way out of things when he could—but this…no, he couldn't come up with a valid enough reason for…this.

Running around without trousers…eeeyeah, there was no good way to start off a conversation with that fact…

Finally! Lab 5: the Evaluation Conservatorium or EC Room. (A majority of R.I. members loved referring to it as "Easy Street" and often hummed a line or two on their way there.)

As one of the "boring-est" laboratories R.I. had, (a phrase Wilbur promoted that was universally accepted by the staff much to the chagrin of the Analyst Team) it was NEVER locked.

Because DUH, there was nothing interesting enough to take.

So Wilbur was shocked when its hand scanner had calmly and a bit snootily announced 'Wilbur Robinson is NOT permitted access.'

Well fine! Be that way. Lab 4 was right beside it and had a doorway that conjoined both spaces.

He stalked over to the adjacent doorway. Now this door would be a bit more heavily fortified. But he totally had an angle; He ran his father's ID through the lock slot.

It processed the card, the panel lit up green.

Good.

Good. All signs were pointing to a successful intrusion!

_Block Level Password?_

Noooooo!

He closed his eyes. Opened them. The message remained.

Noooooooooooooooo!

That meant it was locked! All of it was locked! This _**whole**_ floor was locked! WHY was the whole floor locked?

Drats!

He had to find a way in!

Had to!

Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose…_Think Wil THINK! Laboratory 4 and 5… shared a ventilation duct_!

* * *

Crawling through such narrow tunnels wasn't…enjoyable, but it was much easier with his glasses.

Their flashlight function was awesome for this sort of stuff. Though he wondered if his Dad would've added that feature if he'd known what it was going to be used for.

Just a little bit farther and he'd-

**BAM**-

"Ouch!"

He clutched his head as it throbbed.

"Ow, ow, ow…owwwwwww"

He'd bumped straight into something solid and unyielding.

He glanced up.

"Gah! Darn it!"

Was there no end to the obstacles he was facing! Sheesh! Come ON Lady Luck, show a little reprieve.

He inspected the barrier more closely: They'd put up a block between the two rooms!

A solid metal square welded to all four sides and at least two inches thick…darn…

He wasn't going to make it to the Analyzer…it had finally happened—a scheme Wilbur Robinson couldn't pull off…he was defeated…

He slammed a fist on the metal beneath him…

And it gave way.

He barely managed a soft yelp before he plunged out of the grate.

**SPLASH!**

To think, one minute he was on all fours quite a span up, the next he was totally submerged.

He spluttered as he broke the surface, "What the-? Who the? How the? Whoa!"

In retrospect, he should be grateful the room was flooded; Falling from the ceiling in Lab 4 would've been…harmful (coughdeadlycough) to say the least.

But it was so odd…

He spat out a mouthful of water and glanced up at the ceiling perplexed, all the sprinklers were going to town and from the looks of it the floor drains were clogged.

Ooookay, so THIS must be the reason the level was locked, which meant…

Greeeatt…now he was trapped in here.

There was no way he'd be able to tread water for several hours. And if the whole block level was locked than the conjoining door would be useless.

And he had no way of contacting anyone…Blast…he was DOOMED…

Wait a minute…

The chute!

This was a Chem. Lab and they often sent their materials to the E.C. room to ensure the purity of their chemicals!

If he crawled through the chute…!

Wilbur swam over to the wall adjoining the laboratories, passing various floating debris: ruined books, beakers, test tubes, ph level devices, a magic eight ball…

Hopefully there was nothing toxic mixed in the water with him…

Oh well, he took a deep breath and dove kicking as hard as he could…swimming deeper and deeper…

Again he was grateful for the flashlight function on his glasses; it was dark down here.

Man this was really taking it out of him; the young Robinson had such a light body it was hard to keep himself from floating back up.

Nonetheless he paddled his arms forcefully until he was deep enough to grip the lip of the chute's opening.

Using it as an anchor, he fumbled for the ID which slipped through his fingers.

It fell like a rock…and began heading to the one drain which seemed to be working!

No!

He kicked off from the chute; arm outstretched, mind in a panic, lungs starting to burn, he barely managed to grab the ID's cord, saving it from an imminent "plumbing" death.

Phew!

Losing his Dad's stuff down the pipes often irritated the man greatly.

Heck that's why dad made that one awful toilet tube: at age six and a half, Wilbur flushed his father's watch in an attempt to "stop time." Foreign objects were scanned and removed before entering the septic line.

He swam back to the chute; feeling more than a little lightheaded and dizzy—blood pounded in his ears and there was a tint of black enveloping the edges of his vision…and he knew deep down it had nothing to do with darkness of the room…

He slid his father's ID through the lock. It flashed green:

_Access Granted_

He hurriedly pressed the button labeled OPEN.

The hatch immediately slid open and he gracelessly funneled though; tumbling onto hard tile floor.

He groaned "Ugh, I know how the itsy bitsy spider feels now. Dude, that bug cussed up a storm. Man this is gonna hurt tomorrow."

Water continued gushing through the opening.

He staggered his way upright, slipping and sliding before slamming his fist on the button CLOSE.

He wrung his baseball cap out before thunking it back on.

Mission Success.

"Whoo!" the teen grinned cockily "Wilbur Robinson NEVER fails."

What an adventure.

The feeling of triumph faded though, as his eyes fell over the hulking Analyzer 2000.

He hesitantly approached the mammoth machine. Nearly twenty feet tall and thirty feet wide it took up almost an entire wall and (to Wil at least) looked like a misshapen letter H.

Blinking lights, knobs, and dials covered almost every square inch—thank goodness it had a voice operated feature.

Wilbur would no doubt end up demolishing it if he had to manually work it.

"Analyzer" he commanded (going for bravado, but achieving a shaky squeak) "Activate."

The Machine hummed into operation, "Unidentified user, vocal chords not recognized please present Identification."

He held up his Dad's ID card.

"Override Accepted" the vocoloid voice replied.

"Inquiry?"

Wil chewed his bottom lip nervously.

This was it. No turning back now.

He took a deep breath, "Genetic relation test…"

He swallowed, "Paternity Confirmation."

Two pronged robotic appendages extended holding Petri dishes.

He pulled his wallet out from his front pocket, flipping it open and extracting the blond hair from the plastic in front of his School ID.

Shakily he set the hair on the left dish before reaching up and plucking a strand from his head.

He set the raven black hair on the right dish.

And then stepped back…feeling weightless, and detached, and-and odd…it was like the universe was slowing down for this pivotal moment.

He took a deep breath, mind racing: countless memories flashing by.

Dad carrying him on his shoulders when he was little, reading him story after story when he was sick, playing Space Ninja adventures until Mom came out and told them it was dinnertime, comforting him when he was eight and had lost several key teeth resulting in an awful lisp.

Always showing up for Parent-Career Day and bringing something awesome, cheering him on at all his Chargeball games, wrapping his knee when he got injured hurdling, always being there for him when Wil needed him…always…always being his dad…

"Begin Analysis" Wilbur murmured.

In less time than it took to toast bread, the machine chimed. (Though for Wilbur a small eternity had passed in between seconds.)

"Test Completed" the computer announced. "Processing Results."

Step 6 of the Scientific Method: **ANALYSIS:**

Wilbur felt his heart race, waiting with bated breath as the data sheet sped out.

He swiped the page, eyeing the information critically.

Step 7 of the Scientific Method: **CONCLUSION:**

His mouth slackened while his fingers gripped the page tightly.

Here it was.

Hard proof of what he suspected…

In bold letters across the page:

_**NO RELATION**_

* * *

Oh no poor Wil DDD : Read and Review Pleaaaase! : D


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Meet the Robinsons.

AN: Allo! Thank you for your reviews! Hope you enjoy this next chapter! :D

Sooooo sorry for the wait. My life got crazy again.

But yesterday as I was perusing the aisles of the grocery store selecting ingredients (I've recently started trying out recipes from library cookbooks…apparently my maternal side's cooking curse has skipped me! Mwahahaha) I was reaching for ground ginger (which I've now discovered is horrifically overpriced) when IT started playing:

Little Wonders.

And I went O.O ….It's a sign.

MUST UPDATE

And so here we are. I finally re-tooled this chapter, which seemed like it was never ending. And discovered this handy solution…I'll split it!

Eeeeeyeah…I dunno why it took me so long to figure that out either…

Anyways…The drama continues!

* * *

Chapter 5 Who's Your Daddy?

* * *

Gaston pulled into R.I.'s back parking lot, blatantly ignoring the _Employees Only_ sign.

There was no way he was even going to _**try**_ the front parking spaces, place was a zoo.

Cornelius had never been real fond of the media, preferring to keep himself and his family out of the limelight. So any occasion where he needed to give a speech to the masses was a field day for the paparazzi.

They loved pestering the inventor about his wife; telling him obvious lies to try and rile him into saying something. But lately, they'd been backing off that front and choosing a new angle.

The Razzi were getting interested in Wilbur again. Someone they'd been told in no uncertain terms was strictly off-limits.

Gaston sighed; they'd never get that through their thick heads.

From the moment his nephew was born, they'd been eager for the scoop—wanted to plaster his little face all over the tabloids.

Too bad Cornelius put his foot down, and (one great big nasty lawsuit and restraining order later) had doused their ambitions.

Now it seemed however that Wilbur was slowly being rediscovered; having finally reached thirteen years of age…that wonderfully rebellious time where they could have a _**juicy**_ interview.

Gaston shook his head; his sister and brother-in-law had decided the less Wil knew about the whole mess the better.

They definitely didn't want the kid calling these photo-psychos up every time they told him "No, you cannot skateboard in this house."

So yeah, it was probably better for Franny and Wilbur to leave via the back entrance away from the tabloid scene.

As for violation; He doubted anyone would give the C.E.O.'s wife a hard time about it. Speaking of whom, he flicked his sight over to his passenger who was still hiccupping.

Franny dabbed at her red rimmed eyes with a tissue.

She'd taken today's events HARD.

And who could blame her?

Abra Cadabra his nephew was GONE…completely…no note…no clues…not a single trace except missing tennis shoes and an open window.

From the moment Wilbur had been deemed M.I.A., it'd been DEFCON 1 at the Robinson Household.

Billie sent urgent messages to all her fellow engineers to screen all Passenger AND Crate Trains for young brunette teen boys.

Joe was checking all the News Channels broadcasting R.I. information; if Wilbur had decided to join the mob of admirers in front of their doors, he'd be able to tell.

Lazlo searched the estate on his hover boots, while Tallulah was calling all of Wilbur's haunts from A to Z.

Spike and Dmitri were interrogating every plant in the vicinity. The begonias were clueless but the fern…the fern knew something…

Lefty was checking all six attics, while Art was circling the city in his ship.

Fritz, Petunia, Bud, and Lucille were searching every inch of the house. Wilbur had been known to get locked in the basement and sub-lab levels.

Meanwhile Gaston remained near his sister who was on the brink of an emotional meltdown.

She kept obsessively dialing her husband until he FINALLY picked up.

It was…rough…catching tidbits of their conversation. Both of them were scared and frustrated and they were taking it out on each other.

Afterwards, Franny had caught her brother's eye murmuring, "he's angry…" she sniffled "he's…angry with me…"

Not ten minutes later, while Gaston was unsuccessfully trying to comfort her, Cornelius had called back.

Wilbur was safe at R.I.

Naturally the household rejoiced-their youngest family member was alright.

Then there'd been a meltdown between the siblings on who should go and pick him up; Gaston hadn't given it much thought-Franny was a volatile driver on a good day, it was best not to tempt fate and Art's job was calling him to get back to work.

Hence, Gaston reasoned _**he**_ should go.

Art relented; Franny thought otherwise. _**Her**_ child, _**she'd**_ go pick him up.

They eventually compromised. Gaston would drive, Franny would ride shotgun.

Gaston shifted into park.

"We're here" he announced uncertainly.

The petite woman nodded sharply, fingers moving jerkily to undo her seatbelt.

He picked up the plastic (rainproof) bag, containing a nice, warm change of clothes for his nephew.

"Hey Carl, care to hold these?"

The robot glanced up, he'd slipped into the backseat while the siblings fought in the garage. And was wise enough to stay silent the whole ride over.

"S-sure thing."

Gaston stepped out into the rain. Wilbur was safe…that's what mattered…still…Gaston had that sense of dread in his stomach—similar to the feeling he'd had right before his final performance for Cirque du le Fantastique.

It'd been a slight apprehension, a tightening of nerves, a shortness of breath—perfectly natural responses to stage fright…except…his usual stress presented itself as hiccups…until that night…when his cannon had misfired.

Now here he was…feeling it again…they weren't out of the woods yet.

* * *

Cathy sighed, checking her watch (the debate was SUPPOSED to have started a half-hour ago, "These things always run late."

She approached her boss who was pacing.

"Dr. Robinson sir? Globetron's executives are stuck in traffic. There was a pile-up collision. They weren't involved, but it's going to be a while before the scene's cleaned up. Do you want us to go ahead and-"

"Dr. Robinson sir I-" A lab assistant piped in, skidding to a stop in front of the inventor, a clipboard in hand. Kevin? No, Ken?

"Cornelius!"

The blond whipped around, "Franny!"

His assistants were left blinking at a blank space as the man sped over to his wife; he spotted Gaston and Carl just a few steps behind her.

His normally cheerful brother-in-law looked solemn and his robot looked particularly anxious.

_Wilbur_, Cornelius thought heavily, _do you know what you put us through with your little stunts?_

His wife was a quivering mess.

"Oh Fran" he held her close "It's alright, everything is alright."

She released a shuddering breath against his collar.

He rubbed her arms soothingly, "He's fine. He's fine, Honey"

"Where is he?" she gritted and there's a hint of steel there.

Cornelius grimaced; Wilbur was in for it. But what else could that kid expect scaring them like that?

"Come on, I'll show you" he tugged her by the hand, mouthing a "wait here" to his brother-in-law and robot.

Carl discreetly handed him Wil's change of clothes while requesting that he "please go easy on his little buddy, you know he's always been a little crazy. Some people are just wired that way."

Cornelius nodded; he for one was not looking forward to the discipline talk. Maybe this time Franny could be the "Bad Cop" though he doubted it. Big bad dad seemed to be his constant role.

Hopefully he could delay it a couple hours…maybe tomorrow…or Sunday. He definitely didn't feel like scolding the kid while he obviously wasn't well.

"Sir!" the younger man exclaimed, his dark bangs sliding into his face as he moved, "Sir! Siiir!"

"In a minute" he snapped. Restoring harmony to his family far outweighed some stupid Science Spectacle.

It was a tense journey to his office with Franny gripping his hand so hard, he swore he was losing circulation.

He fumbled a bit, taking two tries to enter his correct password (you'd have trouble too if your wife was breathing fire next to you).

The moment the door unlocked, she brushed past him.

She glanced at the room, head jerking from side to the other before spinning around to face him, hands on her hips-positively fuming.

"Fran?"

"Where. _**IS**_. He?" she demanded, frame starting to tremble.

The cot was empty.

His chair was facing the other way.

He made for it, desperate with hope "Son, I think you owe all of us—Especially your mother" he spun the chair around "an apolo…"

Cornelius gulped. The seat was empty. He was sooo dead.

He glanced helplessly at his wife who looked ready to bawl for all the frustration.

"Sir! What I've been trying to tell you sir!" Ken exclaimed from the doorway waving his clipboard emphatically.

"What is it?" he snapped.

"Someone's overrode the security of the analyzer!"

The inventor slapped a hand to his forehead,"I don't have time for that-"

"Sir it's highly important-"

He glared,"Where is the relevance for-"

"-It was you!"

Cornelius blinked,"What?"

"_**You**_ overrode it sir! Or…your badge did."

Neil's mouth gaped. He automatically touched his left pocket…no tag.

He hurried over to his lab coat, where it lay innocently across his desk.

Nothing.

"He has my badge" he murmured; _Nice going Neil, you pretty much handed him a skeleton key._

He ran a hand through his hair, as a sense of impending doom crashed around him. He swallowed nervously, "What did I override?"

"A paternity test" Ken offered promptly.

Cornelius spluttered, "What!"

"Yes sir, R.I.'s performed an illegal paternity test. But that's not the part that I'm confused by" the assistant explained, "The user is inside the block level that we locked up. No breaches in door security. Except for the chute between labs."

Ken flipped through the pages again before shaking his head in exasperation, "Sir, I don't know how he got into the room. I mean…It's like he materialized through the walls."

But his office was locked and there was no sign of tampering…

Cornelius tapped his teeth, neck craning back—thinking, thinking, think-

When he saw it…

If he was anyone else, he might casually dismiss it, but he hadn't it made it this far without having an eye for detail.

One of his ceiling tiles…

The left far corner was slightly crooked…

His mouth gaped in disbelief.

No way…

Then again this was Wilbur…Brilliant, clever Wilbur who glossed over his intellect with immature phrases and obnoxious behavior.

That way he could depend on being underestimated…

But he was sick, so he was sloppy.

And his carelessness had revealed him…

Cornelius hefted himself onto his desk, ignoring the groan it made.

"Sir?" the assistant inquired uncertainly.

"Neil," Franny replied tiredly, "Honey what are you-"

He reached up toward the tile.

It lifted easily.

Too small of course for him, but for a skinny, athletic Wilbur (who apparently had memorized the ventilation outlay of the building) it'd be a piece of cake.

"Ooooh that boy!" Franny cried outraged "He _**knows**_ we banned the 'Secret Agent' game for a reason!"

* * *

Cornelius L. Robinson hurried down the corridor, his wife swift on his heels.

He keyed in the password, stepping forward the moment the door slid open.

Only…the lab was empty.

"Cornelius."

He stared at his wife.

She took in a shaky breath, lips trembling "where is my baby?"

But how?

How could he possibly have-

Cornelius heard something crunch underfoot.

He knelt down, picking up the crumpled piece of paper; carefully smoothing it out, scanning the contents.

As he did so, at the edge of his vision he saw a foot.

"Wilbur?"

Franny followed his line of sight, glimpsing the foot just as it ducked out of sight.

They shared a concerned look before approaching the lab table where they'd seen it.

"Wilbur? Baby what's wrong?" Franny crooned.

No response. The inventor knelt down, peering underneath.

"I see you there. Are you alright?"

"…yes."

"You don't seem alright. Come here, let us see you."

The boy didn't budge.

Cornelius sighed and crawled under the table, silently cursing his great height which caused him to hunch over awkwardly.

Terribly uncomfortable…but that was nothing; relief was seeping into every muscle and bone and it was hard to keep from smiling at his boy.

Something which wasn't okay considering that his son definitely seemed to be taking this as a solemn moment.

Franny crouched down and scurried in between them—squinting in the darkness of Wil's hiding place. She reached out, placing a concerned hand on his forehead, "What's the matter? Are you hurt? You still have a fever…Baby?"

No reply, though he made a slight sound in his throat. A "grmm" noise which they'd learned in the 'terrible two's' was his 'I'm angry' sound.

"Sweetie, are you upset?"

The young teen tensed a bit.

"Is it because of this?" Cornelius inquired as he shook the offending piece of paper.

Franny gave him a quizzical look as a heavy silence descended.

"Wilbur? Did you read it?"

The boy plucked at a sock, purposely not looking at him.

"If you read it, than you shouldn't be angry or sad, unless…you were hoping for a-" Cornelius couldn't keep the chuckle out of his voice "mutation of some sort."

"Don't laugh at be. I don't wanna talk to you" was the hissed reply.

Franny glanced back and forth in concern.

"Maybe you should read it again" Cornelius offered gently. "Try reading it aloud."

The raven-haired boy snatched the paper out of his hand, glaring at him while he announced contemptuously.

"No Relation. Test Subjects 1 and 2 unrelated. Incobpatible in given subtext _Hobo sapiens_ and-"

Wilbur felt his breath leave him in a whoosh of surprise and more than a little mortification.

"and…_**Canis lupis**_ _**fabiliaris**_."

He stared at his dad who was unsuccessfully trying to keep a smile off his face.

His blue eyes were glinting with mischief, as he solemnly delivered a "woof."

Wilbur groaned, shaking his head in disbelief.

"A dog hair" he murmured aghast. "I tested a dog hair."

Cornelius smiled, "Buster jumped on me the other day, it's probably one of-"

"Ugh, I'm dubb! How could I not tell the difference between a huban hair and a dog one? Dubb!" Shouldn't he have noticed the texture? The length? Something?

"You are NOT dumb" his father argued sharply. "This was all rather…ingenious" _if illegal._ "What concerns me Son, is why you felt the need?"

"I just…wanted to…to…bake sure…It's just…sobething sobeone said the other day and I..."

Cornelius shook his head, that boy valued strangers' opinions too much.

"What did they say?" Franny asked sharply.

"…"

"Wil what did they say?" she asked again gently.

"…That" he gestured at the blond "that you're not…by REAL…dad."

"Wilbur that is ridicul-"

"I'm your real dad" Cornelius replied flatly. He ran a hand through his hair, "But Wil there's much more to being a dad then blood. Your Grandpa Bud and Grandma Lucille are YOUR _**Grandparents**_, they raised m-"

"I-I KNOW that but, but, but-"

"Honey you are 100% NOT adopted and I-I am NOT that sort of woman young man to coerce-"she shook her head "Your Daddy and I-"

Cornelius sighed; Wil WAS only thirteen. And he'd been much the same at twelve, thinking that genes alone defined families. When it was love that really connected people together, something which transcended flesh.

He opened his mouth to voice that, but hesitated…struggling with himself.

"-oved each other very much and we wanted to share that love. So we-"

He couldn't quite dismiss the importance of biological ties…

No, the depth of emotion he felt for his son, was definitely influenced by his paternity. While he could most definitely come to love other children (as he had for Lazlo and Tallulah), Wilbur had his own special spot in his father's heart. One that was his from the moment Cornelius knew they were expecting him.

Big brown eyes watched him closely.

"-and you were born. We wanted you very much, Sweetie."

Though now wasn't the time for philosophical debate and discussion with his child (that could wait until Wil was older and Cornelius had his own feelings sorted out), now was the time to soothe his fears.

"You want to do the honors?" he bowed his head, blond spikes readily available.

Wilbur promptly reached over and plucked a hair.

Cornelius crawled out from under the table, trying unsuccessfully to get the crick out of his neck.

R.I. would be performing TWO illegal paternity tests…still if that's what it took to put Wilbur's mind to rest…so be it…even if it did mean loads of paperwork next week.

They stood beside each other watching as the Analyzer took their samples and computed its findings.

Franny rolled her eyes as she stood up; still shaking her head in disbelief. She couldn't _**believe **_this. The idea of Cornelius NOT being Wilbur's father. Preposterous. So what if Wilbur didn't look like him. They shared so many mannerisms…many of which were growing more apparent as Wilbur aged.

Even **_this _**pretty much spelled out their bond. Forget heart-to-heart discussions, Cornelius liked cold hard facts. Wilbur often preferred cold hard facts as well-he'd always enjoyed having Carl rattle out percentages versus advice.

A data sheet sped out; cold, hard irrefutable facts...and somehow for people like them it was comforting...she definitely didn't understand it...

Cornelius took it, eyeing its contents, "…Whoa."

"What is it?" Wil asked nervously.

His father looked over his glasses at him seriously, "…You're a boy…"

"Huh?"

"Congratulations to me. I'm a father! Drinks and cigars all around" handing Wilbur the paper.

RELATION VERIFIED:

PATERNITY CONFIRMED

And just like that Wilbur felt all his fears evaporate.

In fact the more seconds that trickled by, the more foolish he felt…

His family would never keep such a big secret from him. They didn't see anything wrong with adoption to begin with, so if he had been…they'd have told him.

He should've deduced all that…past experience should've been more than enough to tell him that…except…it's HARD to reason when you're upset.

Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose in agitation; that Mikey kid making him question stuff…

He felt a deep burn of resentment at the other boy before shaking his head…No…no, this was because of his own insecurities.

He glanced sheepishly at his father, who smiled gently back.

Maybe…deep down…he'd wanted to use this to blame their lack of similarities.

Franny sent a glare her husband's way, less than amused by his little joke. He shrugged before turning to his son. She appraised the boy again and blinked in shock; she'd been so concerned about Wilbur himself she had overlooked his state of dress…or lack thereof.

She couldn't quite hold back her snort.

"I'll go grab his change of clothes" she snickered.

Neil slapped a hand to his forehead—he knew he'd forgotten something, "They're in my office."

"We _**should**_ march you up there Mister" Franny mused aloud. "But I guess since there are photographers lurking around, we should allow you SOME dignity."

"Buch appreciated" Wilbur quipped dryly.

Franny paused at the doorway, "Honey, the code?"

"You remember the carnival?" her husband asked back.

Her eyes lit up with amusement—clearly aware of what the password was now.

"I do indeed" she giggled before continuing on her way.

Wilbur watched the exchange; Feeling like a bit of an outsider looking in, sometimes it seemed like his parents had their own language.

Maybe if he'd never befriended his dad when he was younger, he wouldn't feel like such a third wheel now…

Maybe all of his solo "missions" through time had resulted in him feeling alien in his own era.

More and more he felt like he wasn't "clicking" with his family anymore.

The one time he'd implied that to Carl, the robot had scoffed about "hormone fluctuations" and "teenage angst" and how "no human can escape it, not even the '_Amazing Wilbur Robinson._'"

Well…if it was hormones…having them sucked; they made the implausible seem possible and the trivial seem grandiose.

(Much to his shame he totally overreacted at the last CTT movie. Something about Admiral Vrak's death scene hit him hard and the girl next to him shared her packet of Kleenex. Eeeeyeah…another one of those "I-will-never-own-up-to-that-aloud-even-under-pain-of-death" moments…they kept getting more frequent too…)

The young teen suddenly scowled and dug out the blasted photo which had started all of this.

The man on the picture had smiled right at the camera—radiating an almost arrogant sort of confidence, while Franny beamed at something beside her.

"You!" he scolded the picture. "Giving be reasonable doubt!"

"Wil?"

The boy sighed and brandished the picture, "See…this all sorta spiraled out of…control when I…ya know…noticed that I…well, I kinda…look like this dude."

Cornelius looked lazily over at the photo before doing a double-take and whipping it out of his son's grip.

"Where did you-You do NOT look like him" his father bit out tersely.

"Yeah I do. He's tall and dark-haired. I'b tall and-"

"And so is a majority of other people throughout the world Kiddo. Sheesh Wil, where did you get a crazy idea like that?"

The boy was quiet for a moment, "We…we don't look…anything alike."

"Punnett Square, Champ. You favor your mother's phenotype."

"Even _**you**_ have to adbit it. To strangers no one would…no one would ever guess we-"

"My chin, my shoulders, my elbows," Neil announced gently tapping each corresponding spot "My ears" he tugged them eliciting a short laugh.

He tweaked his son's nose and Wilbur couldn't help smiling. "My boy."

Blue eyes crinkled fondly, "_**My**_ son."

Wilbur hugged him tightly, "I…I'b glad you're by dad."

"I'm glad to BE your dad, kiddo" Cornelius replied, holding him close.

Though the touching moment waivered…

"Wil?"

"Yeah Dad?"

"Why are you all wet?"

* * *

Read and Review Please : DDDDD

Now don't get too comfortable! One hurdle's been jumped but things are just getting warmed up! XDDD


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Well, I woke up Xmas morning and…I still don't own MTR. I know…I'm pretty disappointed…Santa, why! *shakes fist* I also don't own Cosmo Magazine...or anything else that's a franchise that I can't remember writing in there, but may indeed be there.

AN: This chapter might seem like a bit of a filler. But after all the angst, I felt some fluff was needed. And I also wanted to give Fran and Neil's relationship some depth—happily-ever-after isn't a permanent stasis after all, it has to be worked on-long after the dragon's been slain.

HAPPY NEW YEAR'S! : D

**Chapter 6: You, Me, and Pookie**

* * *

After hearing several concerning bumps and thuds coming from behind the closed door of the lab (they'd left their son to dress in privacy) Cornelius and Franny broke Rule #17 of Teen & Parent Relations (as written and taped to the fridge door by one Wilbur A. Robinson).

**Do Not Enter the Room While Your Teen is Dressing**

Still, it was probably for the best, kid's brain was kind of…hazy.

Despite Wil protesting that he was just fine on his own. He wasn't a little kindergartner you know! He could dress himself! Both parents refrained from pointing out that his t-shirt was on backwards.

After watching two failed attempts at getting his arms in the correct holes of his jacket Franny came over to help.

There was a courtesy knock on the door, and Cornelius pushed the 'Open' button on the panel.

Lab Assistant Ken entered, silently offering him a clipboard of the recent events; Globetron's representatives had finally arrived but they were still settling in.

Which was fine…Cornelius had no desire to hurry to the debate. In fact, he really just wanted to head home already.

He watched Wilbur zip up his coat and smile, clearly glad to be back in dry clothes.

Earlier Cornelius had given him a strained, "we'll talk more about this later" because Wilbur _**really**_ had no attention span today. And still didn't seem to think he'd done anything wrong besides misinterpret facts.

Cornelius leaned against the wall, trying to alleviate his anxieties.

Again his eyes sought out his child's form.

There Wilbur was. Safe and sound. Just as he'd been two minutes ago. His mother was currently trying to remove his baseball cap, otherwise his hair was "never going to dry."

The inventor should've been calming down. But his nerves remained on edge, as though he expected this happy scene to flicker like a cheap hologram.

"So…paternity confirmed?" the assistant asked a little too innocently.

Cornelius frowned a moment before his lips quirked, "Yup. I dashed his hopes of being a missing prince to a distant kingdom."

"Ah, that's too bad" the young man chuckled good-naturedly "I remember the day I learned I was related to _my_ family. For three years I'd insisted I was an alien in disguise…trust me in my case, it was the better alternative. Wil's a lucky kid and…and" the young man hesitated as thought not quite sure he should go on "…hopefully now he knows it."

Cornelius smiled, "Thank you for your help today, Ken"

"Er, it's Keith actually" the assistant corrected.

"Oh" Dr. Robinson cleared his throat uncomfortably "Thank you…Keith"

"Awww" Franny replied loudly (obviously having overheard the men), as she straightened her son's coat. "Sorry Wil."

She pulled her child in for a hug, "No hidden destiny for you Pookie. I guess you're just the son of a world-famous inventor and an amphibian maestro."

"It's tougher than it looks."

* * *

"There's my nephew!" Gaston called running towards his family as he spotted them coming down the hall.

The man grabbed Wil in a tight hug, lifting him up off the ground for a moment.

Wilbur hadn't even been set back down before Carl exploded in a tirade of 'Never in all my years of service' 'Can't believe my audio-recorders when I heard' 'Imminent Deactivation but do you care?'

Franny smiled at the scene; still looking a bit weary but very relieved.

Cornelius was sure he looked the same if not worse. His often overly-analytical brain often had him reviewing events countless times, imagining various alternate ends.

A lot of them were ones where Wilbur didn't arrive and they chilled him to the bone.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, by tomorrow he'd be sporting a few more grey strands. He just knew it!

Still something else also bothered him greatly. He hated even acknowledging it to himself. Was he so insecure…that now…even years later…?

He leaned into her, mouth by her ear as he slipped her the photo.

"Fran? Why do we have a picture of him?"

She looked down at the offending photo more than a little surprised to see it here, "Because he helped me so much. He practically jump-started my frogs' careers."

"Why is he in our _**family**_ album?" And he can't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Would you prefer this in my keepsake shoebox?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"…I'd prefer it in the shredder, but if you _**must**_ keep it then…yes."

"We were just friends Neil"

"Tch, yeah friendship mmhmm. Well Franny, he wasn't content being your _**friend.**_ I still can't believe the nerve of him at that Christmas Party, he-"

"Honey, that was almost eighteen years ago. And I should've been on the look out for mistletoe…I really didn't think he'd…do something like that."

He rolled his eyes "It's not like we were still dating or engaged and he made a pass at you. We were married Fran. _**Married**_."

"I know" she replied seriously, "and it was very inappropriate and we dealt with it."

"_**I**_ dealt with it" Cornelius muttered darkly, subconsciously cracking his knuckles.

Franny sighed. Her husband was usually such a pacifist—opposed to violence and fighting; never really understanding his wife and son's passion for karate.

Preferring diplomacy and discussion to squabbles; No one would ever guess that he packed a mean right hook.

"Darling" she crooned, trying to placate her grumbling husband "Don't get all worked up before your speech."

She reached up straightening his collar and tie, letting her fingers linger against his skin longer than necessary…but he continued to scowl—ignoring her caress.

Fine. She'd turn it up a few more notches.

Splaying her hands on his chest, she stood on her toes and kissed the tip of his nose.

No deal; though his eyes had softened.

He was being difficult. She pouted. And he always said Wilbur got his obstinacy from _**her**_ side.

"You see this" she waved her left hand in front of his face slowly, diamond ring shining in the fluorescent lit corridor; the left side of his mouth quirked with amusement.

"You see me" she continued wrapping both arms around his neck and leaning into him; smiling as he responded by holding her snugly.

"And you see Pookie over there?"

Both parents turned their head to see their child trying to take one flier from a corkboard. He tugged on it several times, where it should detach from the pad…Only it wasn't cooperating. (R.I. had adapted their forms to a new sticky-note style…there were still kinks to work out.)

Giving one final, vicious pull, he tore it free only to have several neighboring papers crash to the floor.

Cornelius chuckled, a warm, good sound that Franny felt resonate through his chest.

"Yeah I see Pookie"

She rested her head against his shoulder, glancing up at him through her eyelashes.

"We're Robinsons" she told him meaningfully.

He smiled; tracing her face with a calloused hand, "You're right. As always."

"Well Mr. Robinson?"

"Yes, Mrs. Robinson?"

"Why don't you put that mistletoe scene to shame?"

"I always do" he announced cockily, dipping her and scandalizing more than a few interns passing by.

* * *

After a long serious conference that Wilbur would later summarize as "blah blah blah Science…blah blah Safety."

Cornelius finished up with "…henceforth why Robinson Industries will _**not**_ be endorsing the switch to Nuclear Power until further studies confirm its safety for the population at large. Here at R.I. we know that life is too precious to gamble in our desire for technological advancement. Thank you for your time today."

He gave a solemn nod to the audience who applauded him, before he exited.

As the door shut behind him he heard, "There you have it folks, Dr. Robinson's statement on the current proposal .Clearly R.I.'s stance remains unchanged. Now for Globetron's closing statements. Dr. Hallm-"

* * *

Newscastors and tabloid photographers had swarmed the whole building preventing a quick get away.

Security was currently pushing them back—but it'd be a while before Cornelius felt comfortable leading his family out into the parking lot.

And so now they waited.

Gaston and Carl had gone in search of vending machines. Wilbur still had a fever, but it seemed his appetite had come back with a vengeance. And though he wasn't complaining, Cornelius could hear the boy's stomach sounding its displeasure.

Franny was off to the ladies room—now that the crisis had ended, her…less than kempt appearance was bothering her. She might not have any make-up with her, but she could smooth her hair a bit.

Which left father and son seated on a hallway bench.

Wilbur sniffled, rubbing his nose with the edge of his sleeve (much to his dad's dismay), "You were awesobe Dad."

Cornelius smiled (while discreetly fishing a package of tissues from his pocket and handing them over), "Thank You, Kiddo."

The boy chuckled, "Didn't know WHO they were bessin' with huh? They were all like '_ooooooh Dr. Robinson doesn't approve'_ heh "

He leaned into his father's side, eyelids drooping "Awesobe."

Neil wrapped an arm around his son as the boy nodded off.

Woweee, what a day…

Pushing an errant lock of hair out of his child's face, Wil didn't gel it back today—opting to squash his messy hair beneath his hat.

The strands nearly fell to Wil's chin, time to schedule him another trim. He'd have Franny align it with their "Shopping Day" next Saturday. Wil needed some more well-fitting jeans and shirts; kid was growing like a weed.

Maybe it was due to Cornelius' childhood of second-hand clothing, kitchen hair-cuts, and donated possessions, but making sure Wilbur looked well-cared for was always a high priority.

He was about to remove the baseball cap (because honestly that thick Italian hair just wasn't going to dry otherwise) when—

"Cornelius" a deep voice intoned—like it was the name of a revolting disease.

The inventor snapped to attention, immediate recognition making his jaw tense in turn.

Dr. Calvin J. Isaacs, acting C.E.O. of Syntech Corporation decked in an expensive suit sporting his company's colors; black, red, and grey.

He cut a large and imposing figure (if he was shorter than Cornelius, it wasn't by an inch); possessing a great, sturdy frame that was very slowly bending to time.

A rigid, serious man…not prone to smiling; there were few crow's feet around his eyes, while deep lines were etching themselves between his brows…someday he'd have a permanent frown.

His (Franny had labeled) "unfortunately large nose" and deep furrowed eyebrows gave him a snobbish, brooding countenance.

But while he wasn't quite handsome (at least not anymore…time had been kinder to the inventor and his wife) there was still something impressive about him.

A younger (unmarried) Franny had dreamily admired his regal air, much to Cornelius' dismay.

"Isaacs" he acknowledged curtly.

Without preamble or pretense the man sneered, "I find it rather disheartening that a man who encourages the masses to '_keep moving forward'_ sees fit to shoot down each innovation that Syntech develops."

"I find your lack of concern towards the populace equally disturbing" Neil quipped.

The man's visage soured, his teeth bared—intent on another biting remark when his eyes locked on something…rather someone.

There was nothing warm in the man's gaze, and Cornelius' hackles rose.

He tightened his hold on Wilbur and scowled, "Yes?"

The dark-haired man chuckled, hard eyes scrutinizing the child, "Ah the Little Prince…it's been years. Grown quite a bit, hmm?"

Cornelius remained quiet even as he pulled Wil closer.

The man continued, eyes appraising the boy, "Rumor has it the boy has a spark of talent in the Science Realm."

Despite the warning in his head that news travelled fast and he'd need to safeguard his son from too much publicity and steep expectations, his chest swelled with pride and he couldn't help confirming that "Yes, Wilbur's got a real knack for electronics."

For Superman it was Kryptonite. For Cornelius it was Wilbur.

As most parents can attest to, gushing about your child was second-nature.

And since Wilbur's current interests weren't willful destruction or wanton disobedience, he had no hesitations on sharing his child's latest exploits.

"-making those equations look like child's play. And at his age too! Seems he takes after his ol' man, the way he can just dive into a schemat-"

"-well I suppose he _**DID**_ have to inherit something of yours besides those awful ears" he snickered meanly.

Cornelius smiled tightly.

Really? Did he miss something? Were they really swapping playground insults now? Had they sunk so low?

Still…no one got away with snubbing his kid…

"Yep. My ears. My chin too. Franny's coloring. Why, when _**my**_ wife and I look at _**our**_ child and see each other's traits in him, well it's so endearing. You know? Oh wait, you don't. Never did get around to the whole 'marrying' scene hmm?"

That for all his wealth, wit, and charm he couldn't keep a woman.

It was a petty blow, but…well…he dragged Wil into this…

Thankfully before the tension could escalate any further, Franny returned—doe eyes wide at the scene.

All she could think was '_speak of the devil_…'

"Francesca, as lovely as ever" the man greeted her smoothly.

"Eh heh, thank you Cal," she smiled weakly, feeling her husband's glare.

The man kissed her hand, even as she gently tried to recoil it.

The moment she was free she sat down beside her son—thoughts whirling on how she was going to prevent World War 3 from erupting in this hallway.

She was spared the unpleasant (impossible) task of small talk by Isaac's chauffeur striding forth.

Dressed head to toe in black, he looked more like he was ready for a funeral procession than a car drive.

Dr. Isaacs trusted chauffeur paid no attention to the Robinson family as he informed his employer, "Sir, if we're to make the next flight…"

He nodded to his driver, "Yes, I must be off, I wish you a good evening. Francesca. Cornelius. When he wakes…Wilhelm."

"Wilbur" Franny automatically corrected as she unconsciously pet her son's hair.

"My apologies" he bit out as he turned and stalked away…as though he couldn't stand the sight; confirming Neil's theory that the man never quite forgave Wilbur for being born.

* * *

Franny sighed as she rested her head against her son's. _Goodness…_she felt so uncomfortable, her stomach twisted and the skin on her hand burned.

She'd had her share of admirers…of men eager to push boundaries…all you had to do was brush off their advances and they usually got the message pretty quick.

You'd think she'd be able to shrug off the unease as easily as her unwanted suitors.

Still what really got her was how everyone assumed she wanted that attention. For goodness sake, some of her own friends had lamented her "fate" during a girl's night out.

As if her husband's ramblings about his inventions or the latest alchemic theories were some sort of torture one had to silently endure. (Like Clarisse's husband's snoring. Or Loretta's husband's less than ardent declarations of his love.)

How hard it must be for Franny, married to who was probably aptly titled the 'Biggest Nerd of the Century' by Cosmo Magazine.

But really now…hadn't anyone figured it out? She was a nerd too…

True she loved music first and foremost, but science was a very close second. Her friends would probably be scandalized to learn how often she watched Discovery VidStream or ScienceTimes right alongside her husband. Let alone historical documentaries—real life soap operas, which were vastly more interesting than _'Tangled Together—A Network of Lives and Lies.'_

So Neil was nerdy so what?

So her hubby couldn't dance. And he wasn't dark and mysterious. And one glass of wine pretty much did him in (though him being cheerful and cuddly wasn't reeeally a negative quality).

She was happily married thank you very much. So could everyone leave them alone already!

Besides…he loved her through all of _her_ quirks, all of his seem downright endearing.

She immediately reached over Wilbur, her hand searching for her husband's. He didn't disappoint; lifting her slender fingers to his lips.

And just like that, she felt so much better. Mr. Fix-It indeed.

A Lab Assistant down the hall called them and gave a thumbs-up sign; the mob of journalists had been pushed back.

"When Gaston and Carl return, we'll head home" Cornelius announced firmly, stretching the arm around Wilbur to snake around his wife as well.

Franny nodded, "Sounds good. I think I've reached my limit for family drama."

She snuggled closer as Neil intertwined their fingers; they were definitely going to spend tomorrow relaxing.

Still, Neil had the distinct feeling they were forgetting something…

* * *

Yes. Tomorrow, Mikey thought as he sat criss-crossed on the couch in the darkened living room—the only light source the 74 inch televid screen.

Thumbs flying over his video-game controller, he maneuvered his virtual counterpart through a barrage of artillery gunfire.

He'd just opened the game today—something to pass the time while he waited for tomorrow.

Only fifteen minutes away if the 11:45 P.M. displayed on the holo-clock were correct.

Far past the kid's bedtime, though the rule was seldom enforced.

Mr. and Mrs. Yagoobian were at another Charity Banquet.

Mikey frowned. In short, his parents were off partying…again.

His big brat sister, Mackenzie, was using the night to her advantage having a super long date with her flavor-of-the-week boyfriend Chad.

Probably French-kissing and stuff.

He pulled a face, as a very sensible twelve year old, the logic of older teens seemed dubious…he just couldn't understand them. Turning every spare moment with each other into a game of 'let's look for each other's tonsils…with our tongues.'

Ugh…gross…germs…

Lupe insists it's the hormones making the senorita "mui loco."

Whatever…good thing he wasn't going to let that happen to him...nope, when he got older he was just going to get bigger—end of story.

For some reason whenever he announced that, Lupe and the other servants would smile and chuckle.

Meanwhile, his little brat sister, Molly, was sleeping over at a friend's house no doubt conking out after endless hours of babbling about Super Sparkle Rainbow Ninja Pals.

Lame.

Not that he was complaining; After all, he wouldn't be able to plan all of this if they'd been around irritating him.

And he certainly couldn't pull this off if Mom and Dad were here.

He ignored the little voice in the back of his head that whispered if they WERE here and DID pay attention, he wouldn't HAVE to be doing this.

Dramatic music blared from the screen; signaling the Ultimate Fight with the Big Bad.

He was already on the final level and if his current success with _Blood-Battle-Gore-Fest_ was a sign, his plan for tomorrow would go without a hitch.

Aiming with L1 and firing repeatedly with the X button, Mikey watched the Top Boss sink to the ground, blood spurting grotesquely from his severed neck.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

GAME OVER. VICTORY flashed across the screen, before the red letters oozed.

Mikey chuckled darkly.

And it would be a victory...a triumph to surpass all others. A couple more hours and he'd head over to the Robinson Estate. Just a couple more hours and he'd fix everything.

The boy grinned with anticipation, before throwing his head back and cackling maniacally.

The door to the room opened a bit, Lupe glanced from the televid screen glowing in the darkness to the boy laughing.

She sighed and closed the door softly. He'd been playing that game for HOURS.

The maid shook her head and kept walking. That child…_**really**_ needed to get out more.

* * *

R & R Pleeeease ^-^


End file.
